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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23277061">I Go On Forever</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/SidraC/pseuds/SidraC'>SidraC</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The Outsider [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Dark Magic, F/M, Geralt never learns from his mistakes, Horrible Very Bad Things Happen, Non-Explicit Sex, Revenge Plots, implied PTSD, no beta we die like renfri, this isnt a self insert I promise</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 03:27:22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>30,962</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23277061</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/SidraC/pseuds/SidraC</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Geralt takes a foolish contract, and is rescued by a mysterious woman with an even more mysterious past. Together, they uncover the secrets that hold a quiet little village captive... and attempt to thwart a force beyond anything known to man. </p><p>A side story written sometime after Blaviken, and before the Law of Surprise. Written on a dubious timeline, with lots of liberties taken from both the books, the games, and the show.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Original Female Character(s)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The Outsider [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1713445</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>22</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Prologue</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>In the town of Honnyden, dusk had begun to settle. The chill of the night air crept through the orchards and nipped through the thin jerkins of the peasants laboring among the trees. The cold was met with sighs of relief and followed weary arms; carrying bushels of spring apples, and jars bursting with honey back to the tightly packed shanties. As the peasants neared their village, the smell of cooking stews, battered fish, fresh spices, and cool beer filled the air; enticing the hungry workers home. When the last of the sun’s light disappeared behind the trees, the peasants of Honnyden had disappeared into their homes; eating their fill, resting by the fire, and entertaining their children with stories of the day. In the streets, along the well-trodden roads lined with rickety fences, only the occasional passersby remained; foot-merchants and peddlers, travelers and the hunters each seeking warm beds and full bellies of their own.</p>
<p>These wayward souls came to the quiet inn run by Meggy’s mother; tucked away at the corner of the village. The inn itself was made of hearty oak; built by hand by Meggy’s father before he passed long before her eight years could recall. It was a beautiful little inn, and Meggy’s mother took great pride in its upkeep. Each spring, they painted the walls with fresh pigments brought by the merchants travelling from Novigrad, and string up dried flowers to hang from the ceilings. When it was cold, they stoked the great roaring fireplace in the corner; when it was warm, children left little trinkets and woodland presents on the hearth as offerings to the spirits that haunted the inn.</p>
<p>In comparison, no one would expect a woman like Greta to run such a lovely little place: Meggy’s mother was a short, squat woman; known to the town as Mother Greta. She had perhaps been beautiful once, Meggy thought; her shoulders, though square and hard, were strong, and her hair, though streaked with grey and wound into a severe bun atop her stern head, still held shades of the scarlet it had once been. But whatever Greta had once been, she was no longer that. Running the inn with only herself and her daughter, and the occasional help from the lazy barmaid Isolde, had made her stern and distempered. She was just as apt to scold her patrons as she was to serve them, and if Meggy were ever to not mind her duties, Greta was quick to switch her daughter with the same ladle she stirred the ever-full cauldron of stew with.</p>
<p>Though her mother was strict, Meggy did not mind her ill-temper, and did as she was told with quiet obedience. But this did not stop her curious eyes: the strangest kind of folk passed through Honnyden on their way to Novigrad, or heading south to Oxenfurt. Her mother often scolded her for staring, but Meggy could not help but admire the travelers dressed in their strange clothes and resplendent fabrics; carrying bulging sacks with mysterious items, and strange faces with secrets at the corners of their lips. She would often bring mugs of beer and drink to the patrons when Isolde could not be bothered to do so, and though she kept her head down, as her mother instructed, she would always sneak a glance at the patrons belts; hoping to catch a glimpse of a gleaming sword.</p>
<p>That evening, the inn had filled to bursting with hungry vagabonds, clamoring for Mother Greta’s cooking. Much to Meggy’s delight, the tables were filled with patrons of all kinds; their skin darkened and weathered from travel, and their strange clothes dusty and worn. Even Isolde took notice of the patrons and set herself to helping fill the hungry bellies; if only to flutter her eyes and switch her hips at the young men seated near the fire. Meggy bustled between the tables and eyed the strangers with curiosity; returning smiles from the friendlier faces, and ignoring the ones that made her skin crawl. Her mother often scolded her for these expressions. “You look down your nose at some of these sods; as if you were any taller than their belts!” Meggy did not quite understand what her mother meant by “looking down her nose,” but she did as she was told, and kept her nose turned to the floor.</p>
<p>That evening was no different: she did her duties as quickly and quietly as a mouse, while taking notice of every face that passed through the doors of the inn. All was well, until a sudden chill travelled down her spine. She paused as she was ladling a bowl of soup, mindful not to spill a drop, and lifted her head to look about the room. The inn itself was composed of two wings, converging in a corner where Mother Greta prepared her food. A neat line ran from the single door to the counter, with not much else room for moving between the tables filled with patrons aside from a staircase in the corner leading up to the rooms. With the fire at her back and the many bodies crammed into the small space the room was uncomfortably warm, despite the constant swinging of the door letting in the night air. No particular reason for her to be cold, was there?</p>
<p>But Meggy felt that something had changed. There had been a subtle shift in the air that only she seemed to notice. She scanned the room carefully, taking note of the patrons: nobody seemed disturbed, or otherwise out of place. But then, just as she made to return to her work, she caught a glimpse of a shadow in the back corner of the room. A dark figure dressed in a hooded cloak and riding leathers had crept in behind a band of raucous warriors and slipped into a table in the far corner of the room; well out of the sight of the rest of the room. Meggy could not see this strange figure's face beneath the darkness of the hood, but the figure moved with a grace that Meggy’s eye could not seem to follow; the motions too smooth, too quick to be another one of the Baron’s men. An intense, childlike curiosity filled her chest: who was this odd stranger, creeping through the night?</p>
<p>“Finish spooning that bowl before it gets cold!” Mother Greta suddenly snapped, rapping the ladle on the table in front of Meggy and making her jump.</p>
<p>“Sorry, mother,” she said quickly, ignoring the rest of Mother Greta’s berating as she quickly finished filling the bowl, and bustled off to deliver it. All the while, she could not keep her eyes off the odd figure in the corner: she could not say why, but some odd feeling told her this person did not belong here. She scurried back to the counter and bustled up next to her mother; tugging on her skirts.</p>
<p>“Who is that odd fellow in the corner there?” she whispered. Her mother made as if to shove her off, but her gaze followed Meggy’s to the corner, and her face went near white as a sheet.<br/><br/>“Oh, ye gods,” she muttered. “Another witcher, I reckon. See that silver hair, beneath his hood? There’s no good to come from a witcher riding through here!”</p>
<p>Meggy looked closer, squinting through the smoke and dim light, and indeed, saw a long plait spill out of the hood and rest over the stranger’s shoulder. <em>Witcher. </em>The name was unfamiliar, but it left a sharp taste in her mouth; a bitter pang of fear. But it was not enough to stifle her intense curiosity. Meggy had never heard of a witcher before, but the word seemed dangerous; new and foreign and altogether thrilling.<br/><br/>“What’s a witcher?” she asked, testing the way the word felt in her mouth. Her mother jostled her roughly, forcing her to turn her back to the witcher in the corner.</p>
<p>“Don’t stare!” she barked. “A witcher is a mutant; an abomination. They mutilate their bodies to make them stronger, and turn their eyes to those of cats. They are stronger than any man; strong enough to kill monsters. But they make monsters of themselves while they’re at it. They wipe away all emotion, all thought except killing. But they never kill for free, and they’d just as soon kill a child as they would a ghoul.”</p>
<p>Meggy felt another bolt of fear cross through her chest. She had seen an alghoul once before; lurking outside the village. It had taken six of the Baron’s nastiest men to kill the thing, and even then, two of them had been killed. She wondered what kind of person could kill a monster like that on their own.</p>
<p>“Those sound like the stories Old Gil tells,” Meggy said, although without reproach. “Are they truly so awful?” Her curiosity and fear were churning in her stomach; one attempting to overpower the other. <em>There’s no need to be afraid of something you don’t know the truth about, </em>Meggy reasoned with herself. But her mother apparently thought otherwise.</p>
<p>“It’d be best to not to find out for yourself,” she said gravely. “Tend to ‘im, and do not displease him.”</p>
<p>Excitement suddenly overpowered the gnawing feeling in her belly. She’d never had such an opportunity before. Her mother said to tend to the witcher; would it really be so out of place to linger a moment longer to ask questions? She could hardly contain the shaking of her hands, nor the steps that carried her forward. As she approached, the witcher’s face became clearer through the din, and Meggy saw with some surprise that the figure was not a man, but a woman: she had a strong, square jaw, a crooked nose, and thin lips. Currently, she was smoking from an old pipe; drawing long, delicate breaths. As Meggy approached, she was engulfed by the smell of allspice and ginger.</p>
<p>She was suddenly struck by a bolt of anxiety: what should she say?! Her mother would scold her for her stupor, but Meggy’s tongue had turned to lead as fear struck her mute. Instead, she found her eyes lingering on the depths of the hood; looking for the mysterious cat eyes. She nearly bumped into the table as she approached, and the air seemed too thick to breath. Meggy made a sharp little gasp, whether from surprise, or because she seemed to have forgotten how to breath as well.</p>
<p>The figure lifted her head and regarded Meggy coolly, and the girl could hardly bear to lift her gaze to meet the witcher, but even fear could not drive out her curiosity: as Meggy’s eyes lifted upwards, she was rather startled to see that the woman’s eyes were not snake eyes, but a blue so light and clear they were nearly translucent. Meggy was petrified for only a moment, before the woman suddenly smiled at her; her eyes twinkling with mirth.<br/><br/>“Hello, little one,” she said, her voice a lilting brogue that seemed to remind Meggy how to breathe again. She shyly lifted her gaze.<br/><br/>“If you seek food or drink, we have both in abundance,” Meggy said, mimicking her mother’s words.</p>
<p>The woman’s lips twitched in amusement. “Then we are well met, because I am in dire need of both.” She spoke with the tone of a peasant, but the clarity of a noble. Meggy had heard other accents like hers before: warriors from Skellige, returning from raiding parties. But she did not dress like an islander, as far as Meggy could tell. She was still completely shrouded by her dark cloak; giving her the air of being shrouded in mystery.<br/><br/>“A tankard of honey mead, and whatever might be stewing in that great cauldron, if you please,” the woman said, taking a puff of her pipe. Her words seemed to fill her mouth as she spoke, spilling over her lips. The softness of her voice made Meggy feel silly for ever having been afraid in the first place. She knew she should not tarry; should not keep her guest waiting, but her curiosity made her limbs freeze to the spot, and her mouth wander.<br/><br/>“Are you a witcher?” she found herself asking. Horror dawned on her as she realized her own rudeness; expecting the woman to reprimand her harshly, but to her surprise, the woman tossed her head gently, and laughed.</p>
<p>“Nay, little one,” she said, her eyes twinkling with mirth. “I am no witcher, but a witch; a mysterious old crone, selling strange potions made of toads and foul oils,”<br/><br/>Meggy giggled at the humor in the woman’s voice, despite herself. “You don’t look like a crone,” she said. The woman’s grin only grew.<br/><br/>“Don’t ye be deceived; for a witch can take any form she pleases. A hideous old crone to scare away nosy peasants, or a lovely young woman, to snatch up young barmaids.”</p>
<p>Had the woman’s eyes been filled with anything other than humor and her voice any less soft, Meggy might have been afraid, but she found that she was quite enraptured by this strange woman. Children are terribly perceptive when it comes to judging the nature of a stranger, and Meggy even more so. She detected no malice in this woman. But as the woman shifted forward, she once again felt a chill run down her spine; the very same as before. Meggy had no doubt in her mind, then, that while the woman might not brew potions or snatch children, she was very much someone of considerable power.</p>
<p>The woman’s eyes lifted upward over Meggy’s head and focused on a spot at the bar. Her lips twisted in a wry smile.</p>
<p>“Ye’d best return to your mum, before I snatch you away before her eyes.”</p>
<p>Meggy looked over her shoulder, the color draining from her face as she remembered her mother’s ire. She caught her mother staring at the witch with a mixture of dread and anger.<br/><br/>“She will have my hide,” Meggy cried softly, but the witch only laughed; rich and warm.<br/><br/>“Tell her you were soothing this witches’ foul temper; she shan’t have your hide if you saved hers!”</p>
<p>Meggy giggled, and quickly scurried away; followed close behind by the laughter of the witch. A warm feeling filled her chest as she returned to her mother’s worrisome side, the smell of allspice still strong in her nose.<br/><br/>“Well?” Mother Greta prodded anxiously. “What, then?”<br/><br/>“A mug of mead and stew, “ Meggy repeated dutifully, already pouring the mead into the flagon.<br/><br/>“I meant, is this stranger a witcher?!” her mother nearly croaked, her eyes bulging. Meggy opened her mouth to reply, but a sudden commotion silenced the din of voices, turning all heads to the far corner.</p>
<p>To Meggy’s horror, a group of three men dressed in the red garb of the baron stood surrounding the far table. From what she could see, the witch was still peacefully smoking her pipe as the hunters began to speak. Meggy strained her ears to listen over the sharp breathing of her mother.<br/><br/>“…baron’s land has no need of sorceresses,” one of the baron’s men was saying. “And yet, I couldn’t help but overhear your conversation with that lass that a witch has come through, intent on stealing children.”<br/><br/>“If ye are taking fact from a child’s tale, then the baron's guardsmen are even greater fools than I thought,” the woman said calmly. The thug did not like that, and slammed his fists down on the table.</p>
<p>“And yet, only a witch would speak with such arrogance against her betters and smoke such foul, poisonous herbs!”</p>
<p>“And only a pox-ridden farm boy with delusions of grandeur would carry a sword made of brittle iron against a monster, but there you stand,” the witch replied evenly.</p>
<p>The men suddenly drew their swords, and the tavern’s patrons screamed and stumbled back. Meggy’s heart leaped into her throat. Why wasn’t the witch doing anything?!<br/><br/>“You’ll not speak to servants of the baron that way!” the first thug bellowed, drawing his own sword. “Ye pagan; ye whore, ye who uses her dark magicks to defile, and threaten the innocent…”</p>
<p>The witch suddenly stood with a grace that tricked the eye; sending the witch hunters stumbling backwards. She slammed her fists on the table with a mighty roar; her full, soft voice now raised to a bellow that deafened the tavern.<br/><br/>“You whoresons would draw a sword against a woman in a tavern full of innocents, with no proof of her guilt, be there any found in a bearer of magic?!” the woman bellowed. “Foolish bastards; had I any magic, I need not use it to strike sense into your empty skulls!”</p>
<p>By now, the thug had turned beet red with anger; his face almost purple in the fire light. The hue of his face would have been amusing to Meggy, had it not been for the look of pure hatred upon his ugly face.<br/><br/>“You ugly bitch…!” the thug cried, and made to grab at the woman’s hood. Meggy let out a cry of horror, but the woman moved with an unearthly speed. The witch grabbed her assailants wrist, wrenching it at a horrible angle until he dropped his sword with an agonized scream. In the same movement, she grabbed the back of his neck with her free hand, and smashed his forehead upon the solid oak of the table with a thud that Meggy felt in her chest. The thug slumped off the table and collapsed in a heap on the floor; moaning and clutching at his mangled arm. The other two thugs shifted nervously away, but kept their swords raised.</p>
<p>“Stand down, witch!” the other thug commanded, but his voice was uncertain.</p>
<p>The witch did not reply. She raised a gloved hand and pushed her dark hood back; revealing a cascade of silver hair. Intricate braids and ropes of hair tied fell across her face and down her back. In the dim moonlight streaming from the window, she glowed nearly like a wraith.</p>
<p>“I will yield to no farm boy with his toy swords. I am no witch; have I proved that enough? Begone, before I do to you worse than your foul-tempered friend.”</p>
<p>Her voice boomed through the tavern, and Meggy felt compelled to listen; not by a magic, but by the sheer force of the woman’s presence. The witch stood stalwart, her black leather armor dark against her hair, the moonlight, and the glint of a sword at her hip. Meggy’s eyes went wide. This… this was no witch; nor a hunter, or mercenary. This was a warrior.</p>
<p>The remaining thugs sheathed their swords and pulled their stunned companion to his feet; hauling him out of the tavern and spitting curses the entire way. As the door slammed behind them the tavern’s patrons cheered; several men rushing forward to slap Brienne on the back and offer her rounds of beer. Beside her, Meggy’s mother let out a sharp, disproving breath.<br/><br/>“Hmph. She’s drawn their ire; now we’ll be thought of as harbors; enablers of the wicked!” she tsked and continued preparing a plate for the champion. “Bring her food, so that she might be sated, and leave all the quicker!”<br/><br/>Meggy minded her mother’s command but swallowed hard against the lump that rose in her throat. The woman would likely be gone by morning. The thought that she may never again get the chance to speak with her again; to beg her for stories, to listen to her soft brogue while she smoked on her pipe, made tears swell unbidden to her eyes. She angrily wiped them away.</p>
<p>Her mother would call it idle fancy: there was no need for such pretty tales, and whimsical ideas when there were bellies to feed and bodies to shelter; including their own. Meggy scooted past the revelers as they returned to their tables and quickly dropped the bowl and mug at the woman’s table, keeping her head low lest she see the tears prickling in the corner of her eye. But before she could turn away, a gentle hand caught her wrist. She turned in surprise, and was met by the woman’s gentle gaze. Her blue eyes no longer held any anger; they were as gentle and kind as before. Before Meggy could speak, she felt four coins press into her palm.  <br/><br/>“For the food, for a room, and for the trouble,” the woman explained, her voice as gentle as baby’s breath. Meggy stared at the money in her palm; her brow furrowed. “You’ve given me too many,” she said, trying to return the extra coin, but the woman only withdrew into her cloak once more; offering Meggy a wink.</p>
<p>“And one for yourself, for being smarter than all of those thugs put together,” she said.<br/><br/>Meggy grinned, and shoved the extra coin in her pocket, before turning on her heel and returning to her mother’s side.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>A few notes about this fic: </p>
<p>- This is my first ever fic, so I'm still learning about customs and the sort. Constructive criticism welcomed! </p>
<p>- This story takes place sometime after Blaviken, but before Geralt invokes the Law of Surprise. Playing loose and fast with canon storyline here. </p>
<p>- This was written while listening to The Amazing Devil's (aka Joey Batey's) new album "The Horror and the Wild!" Consider supporting them on Bandcamp!</p>
<p>- Edited and re-uploaded on 4/23</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. The Nightwraith</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Trigger warning: brief mention of sexual assault</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The forest had grown dark, and the witcher moved silently through the night. Through the penetrating blackness, Geralt could see his breath fog in the frigid autumn air. The nip of cold bit through his leathers, and he found himself longing desperately for the bed he’d attempted to rent at the inn a few miles back. Short on coin, again, he’d taken on this idiotic contract, and he was already kicking himself for it.</p><p>
  
</p><p><em>Dammit,</em> Geralt grumbled to himself, rubbing his hands together. <em>Should have brought a torch. Not that it would have made things easier. Nightwraiths hate the heat</em>.</p><p> </p><p>He realized that his grumbling would get him nowhere, so he resigned himself to what was certain to be a long, bitter night. He reached the clearing the innkeeper described to him; the break in the trees revealing a soft bed of moss and dead leaves. A girl had died there nearly six months ago, the innkeep explained angrily. Raped and killed by witch hunters, and her body left to rot in the dirt. The witch hunters in question had already been dealt with, but with the wraith on the prowl, that part of the forest was no longer safe for them to venture through.</p><p> </p><p>Geralt sighed, and settled beneath a tree in a meditative stance, resting the backs of his hands on his knees. It had been foolish to accept this contract at night, he knew that. But he hadn’t slept on a bed in nearly three weeks. He’d been pushing hard towards Kaer Morhen after a long stint in Nilfgaard; cleaning up the necrophages that seemed drawn to the desolate nation. He’d run out of coin long ago.</p><p> </p><p>Redania still remembered the Butcher of Blaviken, and while he was eager to leave that particular moniker in the past, the peasantry was not so forgiving; spurning his help despite their many contracts for aid. <em>Vesemir would have lost it if he discovered you’d died over a warm bed, </em>Geralt thought dryly. <em>As if he wouldn’t do the same. </em></p><p> </p><p>Geralt settled deeper into his cloak; taking slow, deep breaths. His exhalations hardly disturbed the night air. The world around him seemed to slow to a still; a haze of mist rising from the floor of the forest. Not a sound could be heard; not the rustling of trees, nor the groans of nocturnal creatures. His pulse, inhumanly slow, thrummed in his ears. The moon rose in the sky above him, gliding amidst a sea of stars, and the world seemed to shift. The hairs at the back of his neck raised. His nose twitched with the smell of sulphur. Around his neck, his wolfs-head medallion hummed softly. He was being watched. He waited for it to come say hello.</p><p> </p><p>As the clouds broke around it and its light touched through the treetops, it gently illuminated the soft moss-bed of the forest around him. The ancient trees seemed to whisper to him gently; telling all they had seen: the murder of an innocent woman, blood spilled across the moss. A body improperly buried; its bones scattered across the earth. A soul that could no longer rest, and a rage that could not be sated.</p><p> </p><p>The moon rose, and an unholy scream filled the air; sapping the energy from Geralt’s bones. His medallion grew heavier as the nightwraith began to materialize a few paces away from him, beneath the boughs of the trees in the moonlight that filtered through. It’s tattered dress, soaked with blood and filth, twisted eerily against the moss as it turned, revealing its skeletal, broken face, and white, soulless eyes. As it’s gaze fell on Geralt, it lifted a withered hand and pointed directly at him before letting out another blood-curdling scream and launching itself through the air.</p><p> </p><p>Geralt sighed. Why had he agreed to fight a nightwraith at midnight?</p><p> </p><p>The wraith was quick, but Geralt was quicker: in a flash, he’d drawn his silver sword, and his fingers flew through the signs for Yrden, creating a glowing circle on the forest floor just as the nightwraith got within striking distance. As it passed through the circle, its immaterial form seemed to flicker and shift until it became substantial, and Geralt swung at the opening. But before his sword could connect, the nightwraith let out another scream; one that trembled the boughs of the trees, and deafened Geralt’s sensitive ears. He grit his teeth and followed through with the swing, but the slight distraction had cost him: the tip of his sword only grazed the shoulder of the nightwraith, sending it stumbling away from him.</p><p> </p><p>Geralt swore and righted himself just as the nightwraith launched itself towards him again; flickering in and out of material form, too quickly for Geralt to time his swings properly. Geralt grit his teeth as he prepared to dodge: even with his potions, he’d made a big mistake choosing to fight the wraith now: with the moon in the sky, the wraith was at its strongest and most powerful.</p><p><em>For the promise of a warm bed and a full belly, you chose near certain death, </em>Geralt thought distantly as he continued to dodge and swing and roll out of the way of the angry wraith; a sheen of sweat breaking on his brow, despite the frigid autumn air.</p><p>
  <em>By the gods, if you die, would it have really been worth it?! </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Geralt narrowly dodged a swipe from the nightwraith’s rotted talons, following with a short jab that caught the wraith in the stomach: the creature howled in agony as Geralt wrenched his sword viciously, attempting to saw through the body of the wraith. But in the process, he lost his footing: the wraith had conjured puddles of ice atop the forest floor directly beneath his feet, and a slight misstep sent him stumbling. He caught his footing in the nick of time, but not before the wraith raked its claws across his back, ripping through his leather armor and tearing through his flesh.</p><p> </p><p>The pain seared through him and he cried out as the wound bubbled and burned. A nightwraith’s talons were putrefied and necrotic; if he didn’t attend to them soon, they could very well kill him. That is, if the nightwraith herself didn’t kill him first. Nearly blinded with pain, Geralt stumbled to his feet. His vision swam before his eyes; his limbs felt heavy, and his ears rang with the horrible, blood curdling scream of the wraith as it crowed its victory. He raised his sword shakily; waiting for the wraith to reach him as it once again began to charge towards him. He knew that it was in vain. His arms were losing strength. His back screamed with blinding pain. The sword began to slip from his fingers just as the wraith reached him...</p><p> </p><p>Around his neck, his medallion suddenly pulsed. The wraith halted mere inches from Geralt’s face; its putrid breath wafting over him. The medallion pulsed again, and the wraith recoiled with a scream; clutching at its head, and spinning in wild circles. It’s form flickered in and out as if it were attempting to escape, but something held it in place.</p><p> </p><p>A low hum filled Geralt’s ears. The smell of ozone filled the air, and every nerve in Geralt’s body seemed to stand on end. The medallion thrummed wildly; an iron weight on Geralt’s neck, dragging him to his knees where he collapsed; leaning heavily on his sword as the invisible power thrummed through the forest. The nightwraith thrashed and screamed in agony; twisting and clawing at itself, screaming and wailing.</p><p> </p><p>The presence turned into a pressure. Geralt’s ears were ringing with the screams of the wraith; the humming, his own voice crying in agony. A sense of dread fell over him: this power, this presence was unlike anything he had ever felt before, and yet it seemed to permeate every part of his being. Terror. Fear. Unexplainable fear. He felt he must run, but there was nowhere to go. He must hide, but he could not escape.</p><p> </p><p>And then the power shifted, and the world seemed to explode into a ball of light and ice. Geralt’s ears popped loudly, and his vision went completely white as he screamed against the intensity of the power; ice and heat and pain and then...</p><p> </p><p>Nothing.</p><p> </p><p>The presence receded as quickly as it had come. The medallion stilled against his neck, and Geralt took a deep, shuddering breath of air. When he opened his eyes again, snow had begun to fall. The nightwraith was gone, and a pile of ash had settled on the moss.</p><p> </p><p>Geralt’s stomach churned. His back was nothing but fiery agony; his lungs screamed for air he could not seem to draw in. Snow continued to fall softly, landing gently on his hair, soothing the wounds on his back. He heard a soft rustle, and when he looked up, a shadow had appeared on the edge of the trees. Clad in black leather, its face covered by a dark hood, the figure held a longbow, an arrow knocked. Had this stranger killed the nightwraith? Geralt could not sense any of the strange magic that had permeated the air only seconds before. Only stillness. Only silence.</p><p> </p><p>The figure stepped closer and Geralt raised his head, groaning against the pain.</p><p><br/>“The... the wraith...” he gasped. “Did you...”</p><p><br/>The figure lowered the bow and raised its arms to the hood covering its head, and Geralt nearly gasped at the sight: it was a woman, with hair made of spun silver, that seemed to glow beneath the moonlight. She was ethereal; her figure flickering in and out of existence. But then, Geralt realized he was simply fighting to stay conscious.</p><p> </p><p>The woman was watching him warily, and Geralt realized with a start that her eyes were a blue so clear and bright they seemed to be made of water.</p><p> </p><p>“The wraith is dead,” she said in a soft brogue, still eyeing him carefully. Geralt realized he’d begun to slump; the energy sapping entirely from his limbs.</p><p><br/>“Who...” he groaned. “Who are you?”</p><p><br/>“I am Brienne of Ard Skellig,” the woman said. “And I’ve been looking for you, Geralt of Rivia.”</p><p> </p><p>Geralt was too exhausted to be shocked. The world had begun to fade around the edges; the sounds of night encroached upon him, and as he slumped through the ground, he could only form one final, coherent thought:</p><p>
  <em>She knows my name. </em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>__________________________</p><p>
  
</p><p>           </p><p>The world slowly began to return to him. Fractured bits of light and sound played at the edges of his senses. His face was pressed against rough fabric that smelled of cinnamon and cloves. He tried to lift his head, his fingers, but they felt heavy and numb. His tongue was leaden in his mouth. He smacked his lips blearily, and a cup was pressed to his lips.</p><p><br/>“Drink slowly,” a gentle voice said. He sipped at the water obediently, and the world slowly began to return to him.</p><p> </p><p>He was shirtless and lying face down on his cloak beside a warm campfire. He appeared to still be in the forest, lying beneath one of the large, gnarled root systems of the ancient trees. The blue light of dawn had begun to break through the treetops. Incredibly enough, he did not feel cold; only slightly chilled, and he realized with a start that his back no longer burned like hellfire. He lifted his head and finally noticed the figure kneeling across from him; soaking strips of fabric in an unknown mixture before the fire: the woman who seemed to be made of starlight.  </p><p> </p><p>In the firelight, her silver hair was less blinding, and her features were harder. Without her cloak, Geralt realized, she was lean, and muscular; a hunter, most likely, based on the bow she wore, and the apparent lack of a sword, but her leather trousers and gauntlets were strange. He’d never seen such designs, or styles before. Brienne of Ard Skellig, she had called herself. Geralt hadn’t been to the Isles in many years, but he doubted their stubborn traditions had changed so quickly. And what the hell was a Skelliger hunter doing on the Continent, anyway?</p><p> </p><p><em>Looking for you, apparently, </em>he thought dryly.</p><p> </p><p>As Geralt began to stir, she looked up from her task and gave him a sideways smile. “Glad you’re awake,” she said. “You were a bit touch and go, but that witcher’s blood does wonders.”</p><p> </p><p>“Who are you?” he croaked. He frowned, cleared his throat, then shifted to sit up; wincing through the pain. Brienne tilted her head at him curiously. She had an ever-present smirk at the corner of her mouth; her eyes bright and playful, albeit somewhat unsettling.</p><p>
  
</p><p><em>Like a cat that’s gotten its cream, </em>Geralt thought warily. He didn’t trust her. Not as far as he could throw her. Or, as far as she could throw him. As she worked at her task, he could see the impressive definition of her muscles that rippled beneath her simple white tunic. <br/><br/></p><p>“Careful now,” she chided as he settled upright. “You’ll reopen your wounds.”</p><p><br/>“Witcher’s heal fast,” Geralt said shortly, looking away from that annoying smirk and taking in his surroundings. It appeared they hadn’t moved far from the nightwraith’s clearing; he could see the signs of their scuffle, and a path in the moss where Brienne had dragged him to shelter.</p><p> </p><p>Brienne had turned back to the fire; stirring thin strips of cloth within a small pot. He sniffed the air: ginger, garlic, and honey. She was making an antibiotic salve. Geralt immediately felt chagrined. She’d saved his life, evidently, and the least he could do was thank her. <br/><br/></p><p>“I should thank you for saving me,” Geralt said slowly. “It was foolish to attempt to fight the nightwraith at midnight.”</p><p> </p><p>“Warm beds and full bellies are hard to find at the best of times, and even a Witcher can become desperate for reprieve sometimes,” she said plainly. Geralt wasn’t entirely sure if she was mocking him, although her tone seemed sincere enough. Her face did not betray any indication of what she might be thinking. Just that persistent, knowing expression. He felt himself grow somewhat annoyed.</p><p><br/>“You said you were looking for me,” he said, skipping over any precedence of formality or courtesy. “What’s a Skelligan hunter doing on the Continent?”</p><p> </p><p>He wanted to ask about that horrible presence that had filled the clearing, but he couldn’t seem to find the words to describe it properly. The one powerful enough to turn a nightwraith into ash. He couldn’t help but think that this woman had something to do with it. As she glanced up at him, he felt a strange humming sensation that seemed to graze over the top of his skin, like a brush of fabric, but disappeared as quickly as it came.</p><p> </p><p><em>Not a sorceress, </em>he thought to himself. <em>But definitely a powerful being. Now, whether or not she’s human? That’s another story entirely. </em></p><p>
  
</p><p>“Hunting, of course,” she said shortly. “As for why I was hunting <em>you,</em> well... call it morbid curiosity. I’ve heard tales of what witchers were capable of, but I’ve never seen it for myself. I was passing through the area, and heard that a white-haired warrior with two swords had recently taken on a contract to kill a wraith, and thought I’d see what the fuss was about.”</p><p> </p><p>“Curiosity killed the cat, you know,” Geralt said, growing more irritated by the moment. Was he simply destined to continue to stumble into powerful women who insisted on being coy and difficult with him?</p><p><br/>“That wraith would have killed you if I hadn’t conveniently been there,”</p><p><br/>“<em>Conveniently</em>. Right,” Geralt snorted, crossing his arms.</p><p> </p><p>Brienne frowned slightly, and it gave Geralt a childish amount of pleasure to see that smirk wiped off her face. “I sense your disproval,” she tutted. “And your mistrust. But I mean you no ill-will, nor did I mean to cause you trouble. Please, allow me to finish dressing your wounds, and I will explain myself.”</p><p> </p><p>Geralt eyed her warily. Everything about this woman told him he shouldn’t trust her; from her expression, to the strange sensation of power. It was entirely possible that she was a victim of a strange curse, much like Renfri, but it was impossible to tell, especially if she insisted on being coy. But, she <em>had</em> saved his life. Despite the secrecy she seemed to enjoy shrouding herself in, she certainly telegraphed herself to him; each slight adjustment, each shift in expression and tone was as clear as day to him. He supposed she was trying to get him to trust her, which, after years of experience, only served to make him trust her less, but...</p><p>
  
</p><p><em>What the hell, </em>Geralt grumbled. <em>It’s not like I’ll be able to reach those wounds myself. </em>He grunted in acquiescence and turned so his back was to her. He was starting to feel the sting of the necrotic wounds and could smell the rotted flesh beneath the salve Brienne had made; although, it was not nearly as bad as it should have been after all this time. She truly had saved his life by acting so quickly. He winced as she peeled the old bandages from his back but did not make a sound. Now that she was closer, he could smell the cinnamon and cloves more clearly, and the cool touch of her fingers against his back. <br/><br/></p><p>“I am a warrior; trained in forgotten ways, much like yourself. I travel a path of my own, and I tend to let my curiosity get the best of me,”</p><p> </p><p>“Wandering into a fight between a witcher and a nightwraith seems more like stupidity than curiosity,” Geralt said, although there was no real venom behind his words.</p><p><br/>“Hm, perhaps,” she agreed. “But again, I wanted to see what you could do. My intention had been to approach you before you fought the wraith, but by the time I arrived, the wraith had already appeared, and I did not want to distract you. So, I remained hidden.”</p><p> </p><p>Something had been gnawing at Geralt for a while now, and he felt now was as good a time as any to ask.</p><p> </p><p>“I suppose I have you to thank for killing that wraith, then?”<br/><br/></p><p>Geralt was prepared for a slew of responses; ranging from excuses, to boasting, to more of that coy bullshit, but he hadn’t expected her to actually fumble. As it was, it was so slight; her hands stilling against his back, trembling ever so slightly before returning to their work.</p><p><br/>“No,” she replied, a heartbeat too late. “I do not know what killed the wraith. I was hoping you had an answer, but it appears we’re both at a loss.” <br/><br/></p><p>
  <em>Liar. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>But now wasn’t the time to confront her about it; not with his back to her, and his weapons out of sight. He had no clue what this woman was capable of, and he wasn’t going to risk fighting her until he knew what he was up against. <br/><br/></p><p>“No point scratching our heads over it,” Geralt replied flatly. “Wraith’s dead, and I have no trophy to show for it, which means it was pointless either way.”</p><p><br/>“If I heard right, it had snatched a few innocent travelers,” Brienne said dryly. She nudged the undersides of his arms until he raised them above his head, and then began winding a long bandage around his torso. She did it in such a practical and clinical manner, not hesitating at his scars or brushing over exposed skin, that Geralt had to smile to himself.</p><p><br/>“Is that not reason enough to kill it?”</p><p><br/>The smile slipped from Geralt’s face. “Not sure what kind of answer you’re expecting from me,” Geralt said shortly. “I’m a witcher; I kill monsters for money, so I can continue to survive. I’m not a charity.”<br/><br/></p><p>“I seem to have hit a nerve,” Brienne sniffed, tying off the bandages and stepping away. She handed Geralt his shirt, and then raised an eyebrow at him. “I wasn’t trying to preach a moral lesson at you; just point out that there’s at least some gain to be found by killing that ploughin’ thing.”</p><p> </p><p>Geralt finished pulling his shirt over his head and turned to face her. The pain on his back had nearly disappeared. The ointment she’d concocted was working wonders, but he paid no attention to it. For a moment, they sat staring at each other. Exchanging an unspoken challenge. Something passed between them in that moment, and Geralt found that although she was infuriating, he rather liked her company.</p><p> </p><p>Despite the ruggedness hardness of her features, she was a pretty thing, and obviously knew how to fend for herself. Although it was high time he started the hike back to the town, he found himself not yet wanting to leave, but also not knowing quite what to say to make her stay. However, it seemed Brienne would once again jump to the rescue.</p><p><br/>“Tell you what,” she said suddenly, shattering the tension between them. “I cost you that trophy, so I owe you the coin for it. I’ll pay for a night at the inn; owner owes me a favor anyway.”</p><p><br/>Geralt blinked, surprised for a moment, then fumbled for words. “Saving my life was repayment enough,” he said honestly. “There’s really no need...”</p><p><br/>“Please, I insist,” Brienne said, already gathering her things. “Witcher or no, you need rest in a proper bed, and Freya knows I need a peaceful night myself.”</p><p> </p><p>Geralt watched her for a moment as she stomped out the campfire. She was taller than he expected, nearly as tall as him, and her long, ashen hair nearly reached her hips even in its twin brains. She moved with a fluid kind of grace, and her shoulders were strong, broad, and rippled with muscle. Every time she shifted, he could smell cinnamon and clove rippling from her; dark, heady spices, mixed with the smell of fresh earth and dead leaves. And those <em>eyes... </em>Geralt was convinced that she was a magical being of some kind, although he had yet to determine her nature. She was hiding something from him, that much was certain. And, gods damn him, he wanted to find out what it was. <br/><br/></p><p>“Fair enough,” Geralt replied. He gathered his cloak around him, and as he stood, Brienne handed him his satchel, and his swords without a word. He adjusted his items over his shoulders, not letting them touch his fresh wounds as she stomped out the fire, and with one final lingering look, they set off towards the town.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Brienne is a character I've been toying with across different media types for years now, and I finally just decided to bastardize her in a fanfic instead of OC. But it fits, because apparently Geralt has a thing for crazy powerful women with secret agendas.</p><p>Edited and re-uploaded 4/23</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. An Offer You Can't Refuse</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Brienne had said that the innkeeper owed her a favor, but Geralt hadn’t expected half the town to know her by name. By the time they returned from the forest it was mid-morning, and the residents of the sleepy little town had long since risen to their chores. As they passed through, women washing clothes or chopping wood outside their front doors would wave at Brienne and call her name. Children would rush to the gate to say hello, and Brienne would pat them on the head with a laugh and a smile.</p><p>The men who passed her waved cheerfully and clasped her on the shoulder.</p><p> </p><p>“Good to see you again, Brienne! Beautiful as always, I see!”</p><p><br/>“Don’t be a bloody kiss-arse,” Brienne would reply, but always with a smile. As they approached the tavern, Geralt finally decided to ask her about it. <br/><br/></p><p>“You seem to be quite popular here, for a traveler,” he said.</p><p><br/>Brienne smiled and shrugged. “I pass through here often,” she admitted. “I’ve seen half the town grow up. They’re good folk. I help them, and they help me in return. It’s a good place.”</p><p> </p><p>Geralt hummed noncommittally, while also curiously examining her. Just how old <em>was </em>she? If she were a sorceress, her appearance would hardly matter; after taking on the enchantments, their physical body no longer aged, and even a several hundred-year-old witch could appear a fair maiden. But he wasn’t convinced that Brienne was a sorceress. If she were nonhuman then she might age just as slowly as Geralt himself. But nothing was obvious about this woman, and it was both frustrating, and impossibly intriguing at the same time.</p><p> </p><p>Brienne turned down a well-trodden path leading up to the large tavern hidden beneath twisting honeysuckle, and wall-clinging flowers. It was hidden beneath the boughs of a massive oak tree; beneath which a young woman scrubbed at a laundry basin while children played around her. Even though it was early in the morning, Geralt could already hear chatter and music from somewhere within the tavern: two stories, built of solid wood, with intricate designs carved into the wood. It was a cheerful little place, and it had made Geralt a little wary when he first entered the night before. There was a reason he steered towards the rougher edges of the world, where all the faces looked like his. Pretty things weren’t meant for men like him.</p><p> </p><p>Brienne pushed open the door to the tavern and Geralt was hit by the heavenly smell of cooked bacon and eggs. His stomach rumbled. When had he last had a meal that wasn’t overcooked rabbit? Brienne steered him past the benches of people hungrily chowing down on their breakfasts and talking animatedly, and plopped down at a table next to a cozy fireplace. Geralt instinctively moved to sit with his back to the wall before he realized Brienne had already done the same, and was scanning the room with that intense blue gaze. Geralt took a seat in front of her, happy to settle his swords and pack against the wall, and off of his tender back.</p><p> </p><p>“Surprised you’re still so on edge,” he commented easily as a barmaid with an upturned nose nearly slammed two mugs of water on the table in front of them. Geralt tilted his head to look up at her: once, she might have been pretty, but her face was wrinkled by irritation and an ugly complexion. And the look of disdain she currently fixed Brienne with. <br/><br/></p><p>“Two plates of breakfast please, Isolde,” Brienne said cheerfully. Isolde made a disgusted noise and turned on her heel, stomping away. Brienne chuckled, and turned her gaze back to Geralt. “The baron’s men still come through occasionally, looking to cause trouble,” she said in a low voice. “Isolde fell in love with one of them, a long time ago. Was mightily unhappy with me when I cut off his hand.”</p><p> </p><p>Geralt snorted. “I suppose she and her beloved never forgave you for it?” he said dryly. Brienne smirked, taking a sip of her water.</p><p><br/>“Oh, Isolde didn’t care a lick about that man. Her ‘beloved’ ran back to Crow’s Perch with his tail between his legs. She’s only angry that he left without her.”<br/><br/></p><p>Geralt glanced around the cheerful little tavern. There were flowers hanging in strands from the ceiling, and the wall was painted with beautiful, bright colors in intricate patterns and designs. The furniture was solid craftsmanship; hardened timber, stained and polished, with enough dings and scratches to give it character. It was an affluent little place, for a common village.</p><p><br/>“Town seems nice enough. Can’t imagine why she’d want to leave,”</p><p><br/>“She’s just bitter,” Brienne flicked her hand dismissively. “Some people are born with a childish ugliness inside them, and sometimes it never goes away. I can’t help but feel bad for those people, because they’ll never know a happy life.”</p><p> </p><p>“She’s got no one to blame but herself for it,” Geralt replied. Brienne quirked an eyebrow at him.<br/><br/></p><p>“Or maybe, she’s just not been taught otherwise.”</p><p> </p><p>Geralt grunted. Why did she keep trying to pull him into these moral conversations? What was the bloody point? She was an odd woman, so it should not have surprised him that she might have an odd way of thinking, and yet he found himself rather disappointed that she might entertain such childish expectations of others. When Geralt didn’t answer, Brienne shrugged and turned her gaze into her mug.</p><p><br/>“Although, I did kill her only way out of the village, after all. Perhaps she’s a right to be angry with me.”</p><p> </p><p>Before Geralt could reply to that, he heard a shrill cry, and Brienne’s face immediately brightened. Geralt glanced over his shoulder, and spotted a plump young woman striding towards them, her hair flying out of its messy braid and her blue eyes glittering with delight. Brienne stood swiftly, and opened her arms to the girl. <br/><br/></p><p>“Meggy!” she exclaimed, and the young woman collided into her arms. “My, how you’ve grown!”</p><p><br/>“I’m a grown woman, no need to treat me a child,” Meggy scolded, even as she squeezed Brienne tightly. She took a step back with her hands on Brienne’s shoulders, scanning her up and down as if checking to see she was still in one piece.</p><p><br/>“What brings you here? I thought you were heading south for the winter!”</p><p><br/>“Long story. Got myself turned around,” Brienne said, her voice teasing, but Geralt saw through the deception. He smirked into his mug. At least he wasn’t the only person she was lying to. “Thought I might drop by for a visit while I was at it. Good thing, too; I managed to rescue your monster-slayer.”</p><p> </p><p>Meggy finally seemed to notice Geralt, who’d been sitting stiffly and quietly, watching Brienne and Meggy carefully. He nodded at Meggy in acknowledgment. She turned to face him fully, propping her hands on her hips. <br/><br/></p><p>“You must be the witcher my husband hired, and thank the gods for that. Were you successful?”</p><p><br/>Geralt nodded. “A nightwraith was haunting the woods. Managed to kill it, but unfortunately, it didn’t leave a trophy behind. But it won’t bother you again.”</p><p><br/>Meggy frowned. “Well, without proof, I can’t rightly give you the coin, but if you truly say the wraith is gone...”</p><p><br/>“I can vouch for the witcher,” Brienne said quickly. “I was there when he killed the wraith. Disappeared into a cloud of dust; nothing left of it but the nasty wounds it left him with.”</p><p> </p><p>Meggy considered her words for a moment, then seemed satisfied with the answer. “You’ve never led me astray before, Brienne. I trust you. And you, witcher, I thank for your services. I wish I could pay you here and now, but unfortunately, the coin set aside for you was stolen out from under our noses last night. I know it isn’t right to expect work from you without pay...”</p><p><br/>“<em>Stolen?!” </em>Brienne exclaimed. “Meggy, why didn’t you say so in the first place?!”</p><p><br/>Meggy sniffed, and turned to Brienne. “I’ll not have your pity!” she exclaimed. “I’m already ashamed to have nothing to offer the witcher for aiding us, and I’ll not have the town up in arms over petty theft.”</p><p><br/>“If I remember correctly, the contract posted was for a significant sum,” Geralt interjected. “Not a small theft, by any means.”</p><p><br/>“It’s not as if it’ll ruin us, we meant to spend it anyway,” Meggy replied hotly. The fire seemed to go out of her suddenly, and her shoulders slumped a fraction. Brienne furrowed her brow.</p><p><br/>“It was the baron’s thugs, wasn’t it?”</p><p><br/>Meggy hesitated a moment before nodding, not quite able to meet her eye. “They came in last night, not long after Geralt left to hunt the wraith. Caused a mighty row; I tried to boot them out, but they knocked Tully around until a few other townsmen ganged up on them for it. They surrendered, and stayed the night in the stables. With everyone in arms, I didn’t think they’d try to retaliate. But when I woke up this morning, I had a feeling they’d tried something, and lo, they’d stolen the purse with the contract payment in it. But by then, they were long gone.”</p><p> </p><p>As Meggy told her story, Geralt watched as Brienne’s expression had gone from one of concern, to a deep scowl.</p><p><br/>“Is Tully alright?” she asked, her voice deceptively calm. Meggy nodded.</p><p><br/>“Just a little bruised, is all. I might even dare say he’s enjoying the excuse to sleep in.” <br/>Brienne nodded, her lips tight.</p><p><br/>“Do you know where the men made camp?” she asked. Meggy took a step back, her eyebrows raised.</p><p><br/>“Brienne, you can’t mean to go after them!”</p><p><br/>“They shouldn’t get away with this, Meggy!” Brienne exclaimed. “They’re arrogant, greedy, bloodthirsty bastards that deserve to rot!”</p><p><br/>“Keep your bloody voice down,” Meggy shushed her angrily. “More and more people in the village are saying we should start paying the protection fees. They don’t like the thugs any more than you do, but with all this bloody unrest in Temeria, Honnyden has a target on its back, and the barony has the manpower to fend off an attack.”</p><p><br/>Brienne’s face was hard. “You can’t honestly believe they’ll protect you if another raiding party comes through.”</p><p><br/>“I never said I did,” Meggy replied stonily. “But these are uncertain times. The peasantry is desperate for any shred of hope they can manage. I’d hoped that Honnyden would be different. We’re kind folk here; we help each other in our times of need, but many of the younger generations don’t see the thugs for what they are. All they see is the power they wield, and they want it for their own.”  </p><p><br/>“Power stolen from the helpless,” Brienne spat angrily. Meggy suddenly turned on Brienne, wagging a finger in her face sharply.</p><p><br/>“Do you think I’m bloody helpless?!” she snapped angrily. “Every time you show up, you have a run-in with the hunters, you boot them on their arses, and the town calls you a hero. But then you leave, and <em>they </em>come back again! Who do you think holds them off when you’re not around? They’re greedy, depraved bastards, but if you’ve even a lick of sense in your head, you’re already smarter than all of them put together! If you let them puff their chests a bit, they’ll leave, sure as day.”</p><p><br/>Brienne looked thoroughly chastised, but then her eyes narrowed, and she gently pushed Meggy’s finger out of her face. “You <em>gave </em>them the contract money so they would leave, didn’t you?” <br/><br/></p><p>Meggy’s rosy face flushed a deeper red, but her expression didn’t change. “I’m not proud of it, but if it kept them from burning the place down like they’re so wont to do, then I don’t regret losing a single crown.”</p><p> </p><p>Brienne shook her head angrily. “You said it yourself, Meggy; you’re bringing yourself shame by admitting you’ve no money to pay the witcher. Why, <em>why </em>do this to yourself?!”</p><p><br/>“Because not all of us can fight back like you can,” Meggy’s voice had gone painfully soft. “And you can’t always be here to save me.”</p><p>Brienne’s face seemed to crumple. For a brief moment, a tortured look crossed her eyes, and it then disappeared in a blink.</p><p><br/>“I’m sorry, Meggy,” she said honestly, clasping the young woman’s hands. She looked genuinely pained, to Geralt’s immense surprise. “Please, forgive me for being so brash. You know I worry about you greatly.”<br/><br/></p><p>Meggy seemed to soften, a weary smile crossing her lips. “You needn’t,” she said gently. Then, pulled her hands away from Brienne’s and settled them on her hips again; her expression a mirror image of Brienne’s cocky smirk. “I still have that crossbow you gave me beneath the counter, if it makes you feel better.”</p><p><br/>Brienne smiled wickedly. “Greatly,” she said, then both women turned to Geralt.</p><p> </p><p>“Witcher, I once again apologize for this embarrassment,” Meggy said in a hard voice. “If it would please you, I’ll give you three nights of room and board in place of the bounty payment.” <br/><br/></p><p>Geralt nodded. “I accept your terms, and thank you for your generosity,”</p><p><br/>“Not generosity. Just honesty.” She turned to Brienne. “Will you be staying a while?”</p><p><br/>“I hadn’t planned on it,” Brienne admitted sheepishly. “There’s a ship heading for Kovir in a few days from Novigrad. I’m looking to gather the coin to secure passage.”</p><p> </p><p>Meggy nodded sharply. “I’d ask what your business is, but I’m sure you’d just feed me some bullshit answer,” she said dryly. Geralt snorted into his drink, and Meggy shot him a smirk. “You’ve a reputation for it, apparently.” <br/><br/></p><p>Brienne smirked. “You’re still a nosy little shit, even after all these years.”</p><p><br/>“Learned from you. Can’t keep your nose out of anything,” Meggy said, turning to head back to the counter. “Ah, I’ve probably gone and let your breakfast burn. We can chat later, and perhaps this time I can guess what you’re up to.”</p><p> </p><p>Brienne grinned. “You can certainly try.”</p><p> </p><p>As Meggy walked away, Brienne sighed, and took a seat at the table again. “I apologize; I didn’t mean to make you a witness to that outburst.”</p><p><br/>Geralt hummed. “I’m just surprised,” he said honestly. “You didn’t strike me as the type of person to take such a strong stance on something.”</p><p><br/>Brienne gave him an indignant look. “What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”</p><p><br/>“You’ve been lying through your teeth since I woke up,” Geralt kept his voice calm and low, and carefully watched Brienne’s face, her body language; any signs she might turn hostile. Her expression darkened, although her smirk returned; this time, a little more chilly.</p><p><br/>“I’ve my reasons for keeping my secrets,” she said. “Many of them having to do with the people of this town.”</p><p><br/>“Not surprised,” Geralt replied. “You said you’ve seen most of them grow up? Surprising, for someone your age. See, if you’d just said, ‘I grew up here,’ I might have believed you. But you slipped, didn’t you?”</p><p><br/>But Brienne’s smirk only grew. “Alright, you caught me. I’m older than I look. What about you, then? How long do witchers live? Eighty, ninety, sometimes even a hundred years without even a wrinkle?”</p><p><br/>“But you’re not a witcher,” Geralt said, leaning on his arms. “Or a sorceress either, as far as I can tell. And you’re not nearly as clever as you think you are at trying to hide your secrets. When you found me in the woods, you said you’d already stopped in the town, and heard about my contract. But that innkeeper acted like this was the first time she’d seen you in a while. So that tells me that you didn’t just overhear a conversation about me and decide to follow me on a whim. You’ve been looking for me for a while, now, and you’re going to tell me why. No bullshit, please.”</p><p> </p><p>He half expected Brienne to attack him. Or flee. He was ready for either response; he’d shifted his swords to rest on the bench beside him; ready to draw at a moment’s notice. Brienne had surprised him at every turn so far, and so he shouldn’t have been so surprised when instead of fighting or fleeing, Brienne smirked, and leaned back against the wall; drawing a pipe from somewhere within her cloak. <br/><br/></p><p>“They said you were clever. Or maybe I was too obvious? Either way, you’re right. I’ve been looking for you for a while, now; although it was a coincidence I found you here.”</p><p><br/>Geralt’s smile was sour. “A pleasure, really,” he said dourly. Brienne ignored him.</p><p><br/>“I’m sorry for starting our acquaintance off on the wrong foot, but I needed to make sure you were the right person. I need your help, and badly. I wasn’t lying when I said I was headed to Kovir, nor that I’m trying to gather coin.”</p><p><br/>“If you’re asking for money, I’m the wrong person to ask. I’m about six hundred crowns in the hole,” Geralt said darkly. Brienne shook her head.</p><p><br/>“I’m well aware of that,” she said. “But there’s more to it. I’m on the run from the baron’s men. The posse that attacked Tully was likely a search party sent after me; they know I drop in from time to time. I don’t exactly make my presence a secret, so it’s my own damn fault, but I can’t leave without making sure those bastards will leave Meggy and the rest of the town alone.”</p><p><br/>Geralt leaned back in his chair; crossing his arms over his chest. “You said it yourself: they’re after you. If you leave, there’s no reason for them to attack the town anymore.”</p><p><br/>Brienne glared at him. “You know they won’t stop. Remember the nightwraith? Meggy wants to pretend <em>that </em>isn’t going to keep happening. But the baron’s men are barbaric: they think anyone who dares question them should be squashed, and they get away with it because they <em>can. </em>Nobody’s stood up to them in years, and after what happened last night, it’s only going to get worse for them; whether I leave or not. Some crowns aren’t going to satisfy them. They’ll do worse, unless we nip the problem in the bud.”</p><p><br/>“Taking out a small posse won’t stop the baron from sending more men,” Geralt said sharply. “If anything, you’ll just be drawing more unwanted attention to the town.”</p><p><br/>“I know,” Brienne agreed, her expression dark. “Meggy was right: retaliating will only make things worse. But that’s why we’re not going to retaliate directly. We’re going to stage an <em>accident.</em>”</p><p><br/>“As opposed to outright murder?” Geralt said darkly. Brienne narrowed her eyes at him, her blue eyes sharp and glittering.</p><p><br/>“I’m not a killer, Geralt,” she said sharply. “No more than you are a butcher.”</p><p> </p><p>Geralt’s smile was poisonous. His patience had run out. “If you know me as a butcher, and you have all this worldly knowledge of morality, then you should know why I’m rejecting your offer. I turned an entire town against me once before. I’m not eager to do it again.”</p><p><br/>“I know you’re not,” Brienne said. “And that’s why I know you’re not a bloody murderer. But this is different. They’re no better than monsters. They slaughter, and rape, and steal, not because that stupid fucking baron has any actual claim over the lands, but because they have swords, and the villagers don’t. They will burn this village to the ground on a whim, and all of these people will die if we don’t stop them.”</p><p><br/>Geralt leaned back in his chair, eyeing her warily. Every instinct said he should stay as far away from this woman, and her dangerous, reckless plan, as possible. Suicidal plans aside, he that presence he’d felt in the woods was still fresh in his mind. The way she’d looked in the moonlight was hard to forget; her hair glowing an ethereal silver color, her eyes glinting so brightly they looked white. Geralt had assumed at first that she’d hidden her power out of secret maliciousness, but now, he wasn’t so sure. He had no idea what motivated this woman, or what she was truly capable of.</p><p> </p><p><em>You’re the one who wanted to find out, </em>he groused to himself. <em>Besides; if Brienne’s right, then this ‘baron’ is no more than a stuck-up bandit king. I’ve killed bandits before, and with pleasure. But I can’t trust her. Not yet. </em></p><p> </p><p>“How can I trust you?” Geralt asked bluntly. He decided to relinquish any pretense of entertaining her secrecy, but he could no longer deny that he was trapped in clutches of his own morbid curiosity. He had to know more, even if it killed him.</p><p> </p><p>In response to his question, Brienne only shrugged; her expression unchanging.</p><p><br/>“I can’t make you trust me; not after you’ve already caught me in a lie, albeit a planned one. But I care about that girl,” she said, her gaze intense. “You must understand that.” </p><p><br/>“Witcher’s don’t have emotions,” Geralt replied dryly. To his surprise, Brienne seemed to bristle.</p><p><br/>“We both know that’s a lie,” she snapped.</p><p> </p><p>Geralt didn’t quite know how to respond. Brienne hadn’t once looked away from him; her blue eyes bright and intense, burning through him. This was a horrible idea, he realized. He had no idea who this woman was, or what her true intentions were. Why was she running to Kovir? Why was she on the run from the barony? Why bother them in the first place? Why seek out Geralt of all people? She could very well be leading him into a trap, and he could be foolishly and blindly walking into it, just to sate his own curiosity.</p><p>
  
</p><p><em>Get one truth from her, </em>he thought to himself. <em>Something that will tell you it’s worth it.</em></p><p>
  
</p><p>“I’ll do it on one condition,” he said slowly. Brienne did not waver.</p><p><br/>“Name your price.”</p><p><br/>He did not hesitate, his expression stony. “Did you kill that wraith?”</p><p><br/>Brienne did not answer for a moment, but she did not flinch as she had before. Just regarded him with those cold, clever blue eyes.</p><p><br/>“Yes.”</p><p> </p><p>That answer should have filled Geralt with fear. Instead, he settled against his chair, an odd, indescribable feeling swirling in the pit of his stomach as he regarded her coolly. Brienne did the same, lifting her pipe to her lips. She freed one hand from a glove, and a tiny flame appeared over her fingertip, which she touched to the tobacco in her pipe before taking a deep inhale. The flame flickered out, and smoke filled their little corner. It made him slightly dizzy; the room a little too bright, a little too clear.</p><p><br/>“Well, shit,” he said finally.</p><p> </p><p>Brienne nodded.</p><p><br/>“Indeed.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Edited and re-uploaded 4/23.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Healing Hands</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Geralt hadn’t been allowed the luxury of a good night’s rest in close to a month, and he blamed his hurry to finish his breakfast and escape upstairs to his room on this fact. It wasn’t a lie: he’d been absolutely exhausted from the previous night, his wounds ached horribly, and he’d run out of the mental capacity to process both Brienne’s proposal, and her confession. The only coherent thought that would come to him was the feeling that offer he’d just agreed to was about to backfire in a horrible, terrible way, and he would have very few nights of rest between here and Kaer Morhen. So he did the only thing he felt capable of doing, and collapsed into his bed before drifting into a deep, solid sleep.</p><p> </p><p>He slept for the entire day, and likely would have slept straight through that night as well if a soft tapping at his door hadn’t roused him from his sleep. He groggily sat up, glancing out his window, and he was only somewhat surprised to see that the sun had set, and night had fallen. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, then hissed as the fresh skin on his back stretched painfully. Damn wraiths.</p><p> </p><p>“Come in,” he grunted. He reached for a shirt as Brienne gently pushed open the door. She was the last person he wanted to see right now, but he supposed she was eager to get a move-on with her asinine plan. She looked far more rested than Geralt felt, although she’d apparently been busy: her hair was freshly washed and plaited, and her leather breeches smelled like soap and lye. He grunted in annoyance. Of course she hadn’t slept. If she had, Geralt might have started to think that she was somewhat <em>human. </em><br/><br/></p><p>“You look like shit,” she said helpfully, leaning against the door frame and crossing her arms. Geralt shot her a look that could have spoiled milk.</p><p><br/>“Gee, thanks,” he drawled poisonously.</p><p><br/>“Just voicing my concern for my new companion,” Brienne said with a tart little smile that made Geralt want to throttle her. “Are your wounds troubling you still?”<br/><br/></p><p>Geralt shifted uncomfortably. They were actually, far more than he wanted to admit; especially to Brienne. <br/><br/></p><p>“They’ll heal,” he said shortly. Brienne gave him a hard look.</p><p><br/>“Are you sure? We’ve a long ride ahead of us, and I’d rather you not faint from pain along the way.”</p><p><br/>“I don’t <em>faint,”</em> Geralt growled indignantly.</p><p><br/>“Right, right, that was just a quick little cat nap in the forest then,” Brienne said, her smirk only widening. Geralt glared at her for a moment, trying to hold her intense blue gaze for as long as he could before he finally lost his nerve and caved. <br/><br/></p><p>“They’re not healing properly,” he said with a growl. Brienne’s smile vanished.</p><p><br/>“Your wounds?”</p><p><br/>“What else?” Geralt grumbled.</p><p> </p><p>Brienne nodded her head at him, wordlessly signaling him to let her look. Ignoring his own hesitation, Geralt lifted his shirt and turned his back to Brienne, despite every thrumming instinct telling him not to do so. His skin prickled and jumped as he felt her approach, rather than heard her. She moved as silently as he did, with the grace and power of a predator.</p><p> </p><p>Geralt suddenly realized what it was about her that set him so on edge: she moved like a witcher, even though it was technically physically impossible. That in itself was unsettling to him: there were very few things in this world that Geralt truly thought capable of killing him without much of a fight, and he was starting to realize that Brienne was absolutely one of them.</p><p> </p><p>But as she began to tend to the wounds on his back, he found this new realization difficult to reconcile with her gentle, clinical touch as she unwound the bandages wrapping the entire top half of his torso. Her fingertips were cool, but they did not linger unnecessarily, and he was grateful for it: he felt ready to crawl out of his skin as it was without feeling her touching him.</p><p> </p><p>Despite his inclination to be surly and irritable towards her, that strange contrast of predator and healer sparked his curiosity once again, and his thoughts began to run away from him. He’d had an opportunity to press her for more of a confession that morning, he realized, but in his haste to escape to safety, he’d lost his chance. Now, his thoughts whirled; dark and confused.  </p><p> </p><p>She’d killed the nightwraith. Brienne had been the source of that terrifying power that chilled Geralt to even remember. But despite all her bluster and bravado, every time he’d mentioned it, Brienne had acted decidedly <em>frightened.</em> Geralt suspected that whatever powers Brienne possessed, or more likely, whatever powers possessed her, she was not entirely in control of them. But of course, these were only his guesses: Brienne was as tight-lipped and evasive as they come, and she’d given him very little information willingly. Once again, it was up to him to play detective.</p><p> </p><p><em>You enjoy it far more than you should,</em> he thought to himself ruefully. <em>Or maybe it’s just her. </em></p><p> </p><p>Geralt only realized he’d become lost in thought when Brienne nudged the back of his arm to get his attention.</p><p><br/>“Stop brooding. It doesn’t suit you.”</p><p><br/>Despite himself, Geralt snorted. “I think that’s a first. Normally, everyone pegs me for the brooding mysterious type.”</p><p><br/>“You’re a regular old sourpuss,” Brienne agreed. “But you’re also not a cynic. Brooders are always cynics.”</p><p><br/>Geralt snorted again. “What makes you think I’m not?”</p><p><br/>“A lot of things,” Brienne said, setting the bandages aside. “Mostly, that you’ve entertained all the nonsense I’ve dragged you into with only some harrumphing. It means you’re still curious.”</p><p><br/>“Hm,” Geralt replied shortly. Well, she wasn’t wrong; no point in denying that, despite his urge to be contrary simply for the sake of it. Before he could respond, Brienne tutted. <br/><br/></p><p>“You’re right; the wound’s aren’t closing properly. I should have given you stitches, but I thought they’d only get in your way.”</p><p> </p><p>“They will,” Geralt replied, shifting uncomfortably. “Can’t swing a sword with stiches in my back.”</p><p><br/>“Can’t swing a sword with three chunks missing out of your skin either,” Brienne retorted dryly. That made Geralt start. The wound had seemed to be healing well enough, so he hadn’t even thought to look at it, but three <em>chunks? </em>Just how badly had the nightwraith gotten him?</p><p><br/>“Just how bad is the wound?” he questioned.</p><p> </p><p>Brienne gave him a withering look. “You didn’t even look?”</p><p><br/>Geralt shrugged, and winced. “Didn’t think to. Do you think one more scar is going to make a difference?” he said, gesturing to the meshwork of scars that crisscrossed his torso.</p><p> </p><p>Brienne quirked an eyebrow, still steadily meeting his gaze and very pointedly not staring at the rest of him. “I think you need a better sense of self-preservation, witcher or no,” she said. “What exactly was your plan if you hadn’t agreed to come with me? Limp back to the town, and lick your wounds like a wounded beast?” <br/><br/></p><p>“I’d have found a healer,” he replied curtly. “And if I hadn’t found a healer here, then I would have laid low until I healed properly, but I don’t afford myself the luxury of ‘licking my wounds.’ Witchers aren’t meant to die in their beds.”</p><p><br/>“Do they die from being stubborn asses instead?” Brienne retorted.</p><p> </p><p>Geralt snorted, then immediately felt annoyed. That was the second time she’d managed to make him laugh. It annoyed him greatly. He didn’t want to trust this woman, but here he was; shirt off and back bared to her as she prepared a needle and thread to sew up his back. She hadn’t listened to a word he said about the stitches, apparently. It should have been yet another reason to not trust her, but instead, it endeared to him.</p><p> </p><p>But then, he remembered what she’d said earlier. She’d been looking for him. <em>Him,</em> specifically. And she had yet to explain her reasoning for it. Geralt sighed and shifted. Now was as good a time as any to ask, he supposed. <em>Before </em>he flung himself into a death trap with her.</p><p> </p><p>“Something’s been eating at me,” he started lowly. He glanced over his shoulder to see that Brienne had moved without him noticing, and was pouring strong spirits over her hands to sterilize them.</p><p><br/>“What’s that?” she replied easily.</p><p><br/>“You said you were looking for me,” he said slowly. “Why?”<br/><br/></p><p>Brienne’s hands slowed and faltered so briefly he might have missed it, if he weren’t watching for it. There was that hesitation again; that hardness that crossed her eyes that Geralt recognized as a mask for a much deeper fear.</p><p> </p><p>“I’ve heard stories,” she said. “You already know the kind. But I’ve heard good ones too. Mostly from that ridiculous troubadour friend of yours. What did he call himself... Buttercup<em>?</em>”</p><p> </p><p>“Jaskier,” Geralt groaned, rubbing a hand across his face. “I should have known.”</p><p><br/>“He had nothing but good things to say if it makes you feel any better,” Brienne chuckled.</p><p><br/>“Hogwash, probably,” Geralt said sourly.</p><p><br/>“I don’t know, I thought it was quite flattering,” Brienne laughed.</p><p> </p><p>She perched on the bed behind Geralt, and began dabbing at his wounds with a cloth soaked in spirits. Geralt hissed. Gods, that hurt more than he thought it would. Much to his surprise, Brienne rested a soothing hand on his shoulder blade. Unlike all of the touches he’d felt from her before, this felt cool and steady, and though he didn’t exactly lean into her touch, he didn’t flinch away either. </p><p><br/>“Regardless of his peacocking, Jaskier spoke highly of you,” Brienne continued, dabbing more gently now. “He said you’re a professional; and despite appearances, you’ve an inclination to help beyond your best judgement. You were exactly the kind of man I needed, and I knew I’d be able to convince you to help.” </p><p><br/>“How were you so sure I’d agree?” Geralt glanced over his shoulder at her, and she looked up from her task with a smile.</p><p><br/>“You’re here, aren’t you?”</p><p><br/>“Against my better judgement,” Geralt agreed.</p><p> </p><p>For the first time, Brienne’s answering smile seemed genuine. Then, just as quickly it was gone as she picked up her needle and set about sanitizing it. “Well, if all goes to plan, our better judgement will be satisfied with the results. And if not, the only blame will fall onto me; I’ve made certain of that much.”</p><p> </p><p>“Seems to me I still stand to lose the most if this goes sideways,” Geralt replied dryly.</p><p> </p><p>Brienne lifted her hand from his shoulder blade, and he felt a little dizzy at the loss of its steady pressure until it reappeared at the wound on his back, and Brienne began stitching him up. He winced, but he was used to that kind of pain, at least.</p><p> </p><p>“Don’t know why you’d think that,” Brienne replied. “I might be headed to Kovir, but I’ve yet to secure my passage. And if this goes sideways, they’ll come for the town; not me. But I’ve made sure it won’t come to that.”</p><p> </p><p>“Mind clueing me into this brilliant plan that’ll let us kill an entire camp of thugs without bringing the entire barony down on us?” Geralt asked, trying and failing to keep the irritation out of his voice. Regardless of whether he succeeded, Brienne took no notice of it.</p><p> </p><p><em>Gods, she’s as oblivious as Jaskier, </em>Geralt groaned to himself. <em>At least Jaskier doesn’t do it just to spite me. </em><br/><br/></p><p>“It’s simple,” Brienne began. “About twenty miles from here, there’s an encampment next to an abandoned watchtower. There’s about fifteen of them there at any given time; far too many for just the two of us to take on at once, even if we launch a surprise attack. But the tower itself is somewhat isolated; the reason the thugs took over is because it allows for easy access to the main highway between here and Novigrad. What they didn’t realize is that it’s right in the middle of a fiend’s territory.” <br/><br/></p><p>Geralt had a sneaking suspicion he knew where this was going, and he couldn’t tell if Brienne was brilliant, or utterly insane. <em>Likely a health mix of both, </em>he thought.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m sure you’re familiar with fiends: they’re terribly mean, and territorial to boot. If it thinks something is threatening it’s hunting grounds, it’ll hunt the threat to the ground.”</p><p> </p><p>“So you’re suggesting we lure the fiend to the base...”</p><p> </p><p>“...and let the fiend take care of the problem for us,” <br/><br/></p><p>“And the barony will never suspect you, or the villagers had anything to do with it,” Geralt finished. He hummed to himself. “Gotta say; it’s a risky plan. There’s a lot that could go wrong. The fiend might not follow us, or the baron’s men might actually manage to kill it. They’re afraid of loud noises, and fire: two of the thugs favorite things, apparently.”</p><p> </p><p>“The witch hunters have no idea the fiend is there; it’s been hibernating quietly for a while now, so it’ll catch them completely by surprise. The only catch is getting it to the base. I don’t know about you, but I don’t feel particularly inclined to try and outrun a pissed off fiend all the way back to the encampment, but what we <em>can </em>do is lead the hunters to it.”</p><p> </p><p>“You said they’ve been after you for a while,” Geralt mused. “I could pretend to turn you in for a bounty, then you could make your escape and lead them to the den.”</p><p><br/>Even with his back to her, he could clearly imagine Brienne’s wicked grin. “Exactly.”</p><p> </p><p>“That’s still a lot of ‘ifs,’” Geralt rumbled. “The barons men might catch on to the plan and attack me instead. We’ll also have to be ready to kill it after it’s done slaughtering the hunters, which might raise suspicion if the barony decides to investigate why a posse went missing. We also have to consider what happens if the fiend dies before it gets a chance to kill the rest of the hunters: the thugs might catch on, and if they raise an alarm, it’ll bring down the barony on us, and the town.”</p><p> </p><p>“Leave that part to me,” Brienne said, neatly tying off her stitches. She began winding a fresh bandage around Geralt’s torso and shoulder again. “Once I make my escape, they’ll send at least half their men after me. All of them have it out for me, and they’ll all be looking for a chance to get their revenge. They’ll leave a few men at the camp, of course, but I’ve handled worse. You, of course, are more than welcome to escape to safety after we wake up the fiend. I’ve a vial of musk in my bag: I’ll keep the fiend distracted, and you can get away and cover your scent. Just don’t go too far, yes?”</p><p> </p><p>Geralt eyed Brienne over his shoulder again, this time incredulously. She certainly looked capable of carrying a sword, muscular as she was, although he hadn’t seen her carry one. Although, she did have that bow and arrow, and he supposed it was possible that she had more weapons hiding on her person he’d not yet seen.</p><p> </p><p>But then, there was the question of those powers of hers. She’d turned a nightwraith to ash during a full moon, and nearly given a fully grown witcher a stroke from fear: these were no small feats. But what was the true extent of her powers? Were they a curse, or innate? What could she conjure with them? How did she conjure them? How difficult was it?</p><p> </p><p>There were so many unanswered questions about the simple nature of her being. Geralt typically found it easy to assess a stranger for their strengths and weaknesses at a first glance. Humans wore their deepest selves on their sleeves, and Geralt typically found it easy to assume their nature. But Brienne was kept under lock and key and cunning, deceptive smiles meant to distract him from her true intentions.</p><p> </p><p>He didn’t trust her a lick, and yet this might be his only chance to discover what manner of being this frightening, clever, and headstrong woman was. One who could eviscerate a nightwraith one moment, and then tend to him with gentle, steadying hands the very next. </p><p> </p><p>Geralt sighed to himself. Brienne was right. He’d known he would follow her from the moment he saw her.</p><p> </p><p>“You’re being quiet,” Brienne said carefully as she finished wrapping the bandages around his torso, and settled back to examine her work. Geralt turned and shifted; testing the feel of the stitches beneath the compressing bandages: a little painful and stiff, but much better than before. Hopefully they’d hold up well enough to fight a fiend. He glanced over at Brienne, who had leaned back to examine him with her startlingly blue eyes. Though she fixed him with an intense gaze, Geralt was surprised to realize that it no longer unsettled him.</p><p> </p><p>“Having second thoughts?”</p><p> </p><p>Geralt shook his head. “Not in the least.”</p><p> </p><p>Brienne grinned and stood swiftly, gathering her medical supplies in the blink of an eye.</p><p> </p><p>“Excellent. We’ll leave at first light, then.”</p><p> </p><p>Geralt nodded his understanding. “I’ll be ready.”</p><p> </p><p>But as Brienne glided out of the room in that quiet, graceful way of hers, Geralt caught himself wondering if he was truly prepared for what was to come.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I read the books and played the games before the show, so I'm still getting used to referring to Dandelion as Jaskier. But since I know that's how the majority of current readers will recognize him, I'm using his Polish name instead. Language is weird.</p><p>Edited and re-uploaded 4/23</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. In the Dark of the Night</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Geralt tried to sleep after Brienne left, but found that he was far too wired and restless to relax. He kept mulling over their plan, and still couldn’t shake the feeling that something was about to go terribly wrong. Brienne seemed so assured that her plan would go off without a hitch, but Geralt wasn’t so sure: it required quite a bit of trust on both of their sides; trust that he wasn’t sure he was ready to freely give. And trust that Brienne didn’t quite seem to have in herself.</p><p> </p><p>A chill travelled down his spine as he thought about that intense presence in the woods. He’d originally assumed her secrecy had something to do with maliciousness, but the way she hesitated every time he mentioned her powers made him think she didn’t understand her abilities any more than he did. Not a very comforting fact, in the wake of the trust she was asking from him.</p><p> </p><p>But then, she’d been so willing to show off with the little fire trick that morning; calling a flame with no spell, or incantation that he could perceive. <em>That </em>had irritated him to no end: she’d obviously been showing off, and why show off unless you wanted someone to ask? Unless she was trying to intimidate him, but Geralt didn’t get the feeling that was her intention. Despite her secrecy, she’d gone through considerable lengths to earn his trust and prove that she was not a threat: from tending to his wounds, to expressing concern about his well-being. Geralt couldn’t say precisely why he allowed her to get so close; why her strange extension of friendship didn’t bother him when everything else about her did. Every conversation both frustrated, and endeared to him, and he was at war with his best judgement: safety, or curiosity. Tedium, or Brienne.</p><p> </p><p>He spent the night tending to his equipment; cleaning his swords, mending his torn shirt, and doing the best he could with his armor. He stared at the three long gashes torn through the back of his cuirass for a moment, and his stomach churned with the morbid realization that he really would have died if Brienne hadn’t been there to save him. He’d quickly shelved that particular thought, and instead focused on his annoyance that he once again needed to replace his armor set.</p><p> </p><p><em>I can always buy a new set after Brienne pays me...</em> and then, he’d stopped dead in his tracks. Brienne hadn’t offered to pay him for helping her. Not a single crown, or floren. He cursed himself, tossing his armor to the side with less care than he should have, rubbing his hands over his face roughly. What the <em>hell </em>was wrong with him? First the nightwraith, then agreeing to Brienne’s stupid plan, and now to top it off, agreeing without any promise of payment? Had his curiosity truly overwhelmed his judgement? He wasn’t doing this out of a sense of moral righteousness, or even a strong desire to help a friend, because Brienne could hardly be considered one. He’d gotten well and truly blindsided by a pretty girl, and even if this went arse up, he wouldn’t even walk away with the coin needed to get away.</p><p> </p><p>Geralt wiped his face roughly and looked at the neat array of gear he’d set out on the floor, leaning his forearms on his knees. He considered himself to be many things, but <em>reckless </em>wasn’t one of them. No, that term was saved for people like Brienne: people who kept dangerous secrets, flitted to and fro from villages, and cooked up schemes that could possibly get themselves, and others, killed in the process. She had no regard for his life, Geralt realized. Rescuing him from the wraith, patching him up, bringing him back to the inn... It was all incidental. She had an agenda, and she was willing to manipulate him to get what she wanted. He was simply a tool to her.</p><p> </p><p><em>But isn’t that precisely what you are? </em>A sour, twisted part of him whispered cruelly. <em>A tool for humans to use and discard? Are you truly more than your sword, and skill? </em></p><p> </p><p>Brienne had certainly made him think so. He had no doubt she’d met Jaskier, but he considered what she’d said about Geralt’s willingness to help “against his better judgement.” He’d thought it was simply a shitty little jab at what happened in Blaviken, but now, he wondered if she took it to mean he could be convinced to do something incredibly stupid; so long as a pretty girl with a wounded soul batted her lashes at him, and piqued his curiosity.</p><p> </p><p><em>This was a mistake, </em>Geralt ground his teeth, his eyes hard. He needed to leave; before Brienne caught on. He doubted she was asleep, but he could slip out under the pretense of checking on Roach, and be gone under the cover of darkness. He steeled his nerves, grit his teeth, and began gathering his things. By the time he was finished, the moon was high in the sky, and the clamor from the tavern below had quieted as patrons either went home, or fell asleep at the table. Now was as good a time as any to try to slip out.</p><p> </p><p>Geralt hid his swords and pack beneath his cloak, and silently pushed open his door, closing it softly behind him. Brienne’s room was directly across from his, and the door was closed. There was no light beneath it. He strained his ears, and heard soft, steady breathing from behind the solid wood.</p><p>
  
</p><p><em>What do you know, </em>he thought to himself. <em>She actually does sleep. </em></p><p> </p><p>He slipped downstairs quietly, and saw that the tavern had cleared significantly. A few men sat drinking and playing cards by the fire, and Meggy and the man who’d originally hired Geralt stood behind the bar, tidying up for the night. Meggy looked up as Geralt reached the bottom step, and gave him a surprisingly warm smile. <br/><br/></p><p>“Sleep well, master witcher?” she asked kindly. She had pretty blonde hair and blue eyes, Geralt noticed, and though she was plump, he could see her shoulders were strong and her hands calloused from hard work. Her gaze was sharp and shrewd, kind as it was.</p><p><br/>“Yes. Thank you again for your hospitality,” he said sincerely. Meggy waved a hand.</p><p><br/>“Pish posh, it’s what you’ve earned for good work. Tully here told me you’d come looking for a room the night you killed the wraith. If I’d have known you intended to take the contract, I would have let you sleep in the attic to save you fighting the wraith ‘neath the moon.”</p><p> </p><p>Geralt made a noncommittal noise. “And I could have very well have left without thanks the next morning,” he said, rather gruffly. Meggy rested her hands on her hips and studied him a moment. <br/><br/></p><p>“You wouldn’t have,” she said firmly. “Witchers have a reputation. Whether they’ve earned it or not is their own business, but I’ve learned that most people tend to be honest folk who’re simply thankful for honesty in return. Not many can afford generosity or kindness, but a man’s word is his lifeblood.”</p><p><br/>Geralt was pleasantly surprised by this answer.</p><p><br/>“Your faith in me is appreciated,” he said sincerely. “Not many people offer it to witchers, but I will admit: many of us haven’t earned it.”<br/><br/></p><p>“You’d be surprised the kind of folk that travel through here,” Meggy said with an impish smile.</p><p>“Brienne isn’t the only shady figure that stops by and causes trouble. I’ve seen my fair share of witchers, druids, lost noblemen... Even a sorceress, once. Out of all of them, I always liked the witchers best. No hidden agendas, no mysterious talk... they want work, I give it to them, then they’re on their way. They don’t want trouble, even if trouble seems to follow them. And besides,” Meggy said with a mischievous twinkle in her eye. “They tell the best stories, if you can get on their good side.”</p><p> </p><p>Despite himself, Geralt chuckled. He liked Meggy, and he could understand how she’d kept their little town safe for so long. Had the circumstances been different, he might have stayed another day, and even shared a story or two. But it was high time he started listening to his better judgement, and his better judgement was telling him to get to Kaer Morhen as fast as possible, and leave Brienne and her secrets behind.</p><p> </p><p>“Perhaps one of these days I can share some of my own,” Geralt found himself saying. Meggy nodded her head with a smile at him, before turning back to her work. He frowned at the feeling of guilt that settled over him at the lie, then quickly shook it off. No point dwelling on it. Meggy could always find another witcher to tell her tales.</p><p> </p><p>He pulled his hood over his head and stepped into the frigid night air. He swore to himself. He wasn’t looking forward to riding through the cold and he doubted Roach would be happy about it either. But the sooner they left, the more distance he could put between himself and Honnyden before Brienne noticed he was missing. Noticing that no one was around to witness his escape, he picked up his pace a little until he reached the stables; finding Roach resting quietly in the hay. She nickered indignantly when Geralt lit the lantern above her stall, nudging her awake. <br/><br/></p><p>“Sorry, girl,” he said ruefully as he threw the saddle blanket over her back, and started preparing her harness. “But we’ve got a bit of a ride ahead of us.”</p><p> </p><p>Geralt had very nearly finished saddling and bridling her, cursing and fumbling with his frozen fingers, when the hairs on the back of his neck suddenly raised and a familiar sensation crawled down his spine. <em>Shit, </em>he cursed to himself. <em>Shit, shit, shit. </em>His hands paused on the saddle buckles, one hand slipping silently to the sword beneath his cloak as he turned to face the second floor of the tavern.</p><p> </p><p>Looking out over the stables was a large double window with panes that swung outwards, and perched on the ledge was none other than Brienne. Her hair was free from its normal plaits and hung curly and wild around her face. She was wrapped in a thick blanket, even though he could see her boots peeking out from beneath. <em>She knew I might try to leave,</em> Geralt thought dryly. His hand tightened over the hilt of his sword. <em>Let’s hope she doesn’t try to stop me. </em></p><p> </p><p>“Can’t sleep?” Brienne called down softly. She was a good twenty feet away from him and her face was mostly obscured by darkness, but his cat eyes allowed him to see her slightly amused expression. He reached a hand to brush Roach’s nose gently. There was no reason for her to try to fight him, but he didn’t know what to expect from this woman. She wasn’t precisely unstable, but she was unpredictable, and he had no idea if he could take her in a fight. Not with those powers of hers. No, his best bet would be to play it off, and make his escape. She knew he was leaving; he just had to convince her to let him go. <br/><br/>“Slept all day,” he replied coolly. “Thought I might take a ride,”</p><p> </p><p>Brienne was quiet for a moment, and though Geralt refused to look at her, he could feel her gaze piercing through him. And then, she said something thoroughly unexpected.</p><p> </p><p>“Geralt, if you want to leave, I won’t stop you,” she said suddenly. Geralt frowned at her and sensing his confusion, she gave him a small smile.</p><p> </p><p>“I know I’ve not been fully honest with you,” she admitted. “And I realized tonight, as I’m sure you did as well, that I didn’t even offer you coin for your help. I have nothing to give you for your help in completing this fool plan, I’ve given you shit reasons to trust me, and no matter how this plan goes, you walk away with nothing. You said it yourself: you’re not a charity. It was unfair of me to ask that of you.”</p><p> </p><p>Geralt studied her face for a long, hard moment. He couldn’t tell if she was telling the truth or not. His paranoia about her was getting the best of him. This could be another manipulation tactic; playing at his conscience. Or maybe she <em>was </em>being honest, and he was too scared to admit that maybe he’d been wrong about her.</p><p> </p><p>“I want to help you,” Geralt began slowly. “But I’m starting to realize that ignoring my better judgement has nearly gotten me killed several times now.”</p><p> </p><p>“Fair enough,” Brienne said with a nod. She studied him for a moment longer before leaning her head back, and gazing up at the stars. “You’re right: I’ve not been honest with you, and I have a lot of reasons for keeping my secrets. But those bandits need to die. I can’t just leave these people  defenseless.” Her voice was surprisingly bitter and hard.</p><p> </p><p>“Meggy hardly seems defenseless,” Geralt replied carefully. “She seems to know how to take care of herself.”</p><p> </p><p>“Learned from the best,” Brienne said with a smirk that quickly vanished. “But she’s still my friend, and I can’t rightly leave without trying to help her.”</p><p> </p><p>“It sounds like she doesn’t want your help.”</p><p><br/>“She’s scared,” Brienne replied curtly. “And she has a right to be. I’ve put them in danger simply by coming back to them. It’s my responsibility to keep them safe.”</p><p> </p><p>Geralt grunted. There were a lot of things he could say in reply; that her foolish sense of duty was less important than the wishes of her friends, that she was allowing herself to be blinded by her own evident fear. But he didn’t say any of those things. It wasn’t his place. Instead, he took the opportunity to dig a little more information out of her.</p><p> </p><p>“You never told me,” Geralt said slowly. “What did you do to piss off the baron so bad?”</p><p>Brienne’s expression shifted and she looked down from the stars to smirk at him. “What do you think? Temeria isn’t exactly friendly to sorceresses and nonhumans, and I’m about as nonhuman as you can get.”</p><p> </p><p>Yet another answer that wasn’t really an answer. Geralt’s annoyance finally got the better of him.</p><p><br/>“If you want me to help you, then I need to trust you,” he snapped. “Stop bullshitting me.”</p><p> </p><p>Brienne’s smile quickly disappeared. She tossed her blanket off her shoulders and to Geralt’s surprise she slipped off the window ledge and let herself fall a good twenty feet to the ground. But instead of promptly breaking every bone in her body, Brienne landed as gracefully as a cat, and rose to her feet; moving soundlessly towards Geralt.</p><p> </p><p>“There’s not a proper word for all the things I am, Geralt of Rivia,” Brienne said, her voice cold and low. “I’ve met sorceresses, druids, wizards... none of them knew the answer, so I stopped asking a long time ago.” She halted a few paces in front of Geralt. He felt pinned in place by that blue-eyed glare of hers. His heartbeat quickened.  </p><p><br/>“You want to know what the real bullshit here is?” Brienne continued angrily. “That I’m forced to run from something I’ll never rightly understand. That I’ll always be a walking target. Your girl in Blaviken understood that, didn’t she?”</p><p> </p><p>Cold rage washed over Geralt. The power that seemed to hold him in place suddenly snapped and he lunged forward so quickly Brienne didn’t have a chance to react; knocking her backwards into the wall of the tavern, his forearm pressed into her throat. <br/><br/></p><p>“You don’t have the <em>fucking </em>right,” he hissed. His face was mere centimeters from Brienne’s, her face turning bright red as she struggled to wrench his arm away, but she didn’t once break his gaze. Didn’t once stop staring him down.  </p><p><br/>“Then don’t call me a <em>fucking </em>liar,” she spat. Geralt finally wrenched his arm away with a furious noise, and Brienne clutched at her throat, taking ragged breaths. For a moment he simply stood with his back to her, breathing hard and listening as she fought to catch her breath. When her breathing finally normalized, he heard her sigh.  <br/><br/></p><p>“I’m sorry, Geralt,” she said, her voice soft. “I shouldn’t have said such things.”</p><p><br/>“No, you shouldn’t have,” Geralt said bitterly. He didn’t look at her. He <em>refused t</em>o look at her. His head was whirling with feelings of anger, fear, and guilt he’d pushed down a long time ago, and Brienne had dredged it all up again. Why, <em>why </em>did she get under his skin like this?</p><p> </p><p>“What could I possibly say?” Brienne said, her voice becoming desperate. “That I was born on Ard Skellig? That I ran to the continent as a child, because I was chased out of my home? That I’ve wandered aimlessly for decades now, no place to call my home except a quiet little town I endanger with my very presence? Would you rather have a reason to pity me, than fear me?”</p><p> </p><p>Something shifted inside of Geralt, then. He couldn’t rightly describe what it was, but the fear he’d felt slowly melted away. He finally turned to face her, and though he could feel the twinges of that presence playing at the edge of his senses, he no longer felt afraid. Brienne was leaning against the wall, her arms crossed tightly across her chest. Her jaw was clenched tightly, her eyes cast to the ground. She no longer looked like some ethereal goddess. Instead, she just looked like a desperate woman in need of his help. And against his better judgement, Geralt decided to offer it.</p><p> </p><p>“Honesty suits you far better than that mysterious bullshit,” he said flatly. Brienne looked up at him sharply, opened her mouth to reply, but Geralt held up a hand to stop her.</p><p> </p><p>“I understand, and respect your reasoning for keeping your secrets. They’re not mine to know. I’ll help you, Brienne, because you saved my life and I owe you in return.”</p><p> </p><p>Brienne stared him down for a long, hard moment, before finally giving him a genuine smile. <br/>“Thank you, Geralt,” she said. “For your kindness.”</p><p> </p><p>“Not kindness,” Geralt said with a smirk. “Just being honest.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Catch me fumbling to fix my plot and continuity errors like a clown</p><p>Edited and re-uploaded 4/23</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. The Fiend</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>After a few precious hours of sleep, Geralt and Brienne crept out of the empty tavern before the blue light of dawn had even begun to rise. Brienne had slipped a note under Meggy’s door that morning, claiming they’d gone hunting. Geralt doubted Meggy would believe it for a second and he told Brienne as much, but she had only shrugged. She’d firmly replaced her carefree mask, he noticed, and was holding tight to it.  </p><p> </p><p>“Better than leaving with nary a word,” she replied flippantly, but Geralt didn’t miss how she tightened her gear a little harder than necessary after that.  </p><p> </p><p>By the time they left, light had finally risen over the horizon; illuminating the path before them. Geralt set out at a canter, Brienne huddled behind him. She was surprisingly quiet for the first leg of the journey, and only once they’d put a good distance between themselves an Honnyden did she even dare speak; as if the mere sound of her voice even miles away would alert everyone to their escape.</p><p> </p><p>“We’ve about a four-hour ride ahead of us, if Roach can keep up a decent pace,” Brienne said into Geralt’s shoulder. He hummed and dug his heels into Roach’s side; spurring her on a little faster.</p><p><br/>“She can keep up,” Geralt said over the sound of wind, and galloping hooves. The air had warmed slightly with dawn, but the cold wind still cut through his cloak and leathers. He grit his teeth against it, and tried to focus on the steady warmth of Brienne pressed up against his back.</p><p> </p><p>It was slightly irritating how quickly his feelings towards her had changed after last night. He would deny until his dying day that he’d ever been afraid of her, but the unease her presence brought had largely disappeared. Had it really been just a day ago that he’d been hesitant to turn his back to her? It was something about that presence she gave off; a manifestation of whatever powers lurked beneath the surface of her cocky, irreverent, and frankly irritating exterior. She was both frightening and intriguing, and yet... she was just as frightened of herself as he had been of her. The thought shouldn’t have comforted him but it did, inexplicably.</p><p> </p><p>They rode in silence until Brienne nudged him, and indicated for him to pull off into the grass beside the road. Geralt slowed Roach to a halt and Brienne swung off her back, stretching her arms gracefully. Her muscles swelled beneath her shirt as she did so, and Geralt tried his hardest not to stare.</p><p> </p><p>“Why did we stop?” he asked, rather more gruffly than he intended.</p><p> </p><p>“Wanted to go over a few more details,” Brienne said, rummaging through her pack. “The thugs may be a few coppers short of a crown, but they’re right suspicious bastards. It’s not hard to be cleverer than them, but we’ve got to get it right.”</p><p> </p><p>“I already have an idea of what I’ll say,” Geralt replied, watching with some amusement as Brienne suddenly swore and dumped the contents of her pack on the dirt. “Seems I’m more prepared than you are after all.”</p><p> </p><p>“Don’t be an arse,” Brienne sniffed. “I know I just had them... here they are!” she crowed, holding up an oddly shaped object, and without missing a beat she tossed it to Geralt for inspection. He caught it deftly, then raised an eyebrow as he realized what it was.</p><p><br/>“Dimeritium shackles,” he mused, not entirely unimpressed. These were hard to come by. Dimeritium was difficult to temper, and even harder to come by given the aversion court sorceresses across the continent had for them: they were loath to allow any substance that could hinder their magic into the hands of commoners.</p><p><br/>“How’d you get them?” he asked, genuinely curious.</p><p><br/>“Nabbed ‘em off a guard in Novigrad a few years ago,” Brienne said with a sideways grin. “Figured they’d come in handy someday.”</p><p> </p><p>“I’d say good foresight, but won’t that put you at a bit of a disadvantage?” Geralt dangled the cuffs in front of him.</p><p> </p><p>At that, Brienne gave him a wicked little grin and closed the distance between them; holding her hands out in front of her. His throat suddenly tightened. Why was it so easy for her to knock him off balance? He kept his face a cool, indifferent mask.  </p><p><br/>“Really?” he questioned dryly.</p><p><br/>“Don’t be shy,” Brienne teased, her voice hardly more than a purr. She was fucking with him, he knew, and he shouldn’t take the bait. But Geralt didn’t have it in him to listen to his best judgement when it came to her. Even when she was so obviously trying to tease him.</p><p> </p><p><em>Fuck it, </em>he thought. <em>What’s the harm? </em></p><p> </p><p>He took the bait. Geralt gripped one of her wrists (a little unnecessary, he knew, but she was the one who started it after all) as he clasped the manacle over it, then did the same to the other; his fingers lingering slightly longer than necessary. Brienne held his gaze the entire time; her blue eyes glittering with mischief and something else that Geralt didn’t quite have a name for. There was a pause. Geralt felt a strange sort of tension rise; nearly palpable. A current seemed to run through his arms, similar to the kind he’d felt before, but this was... not gentler necessarily, but less intense. His skin prickled where it came in contact with the smooth skin of her forearms; where the calloused pads of her fingers brushed against the inside of his wrists. Something passed between them, but Geralt couldn’t explain exactly what it was. All he knew was that something inside of him was stirring at the brush of her skin against his.</p><p> </p><p>His hands lingered too long. Brienne pulled away gently and the electricity disappeared. He remembered how to breathe again. Brienne, for her part, looked unphased, and didn’t even drop her gaze as she made a small flourish with her hands. The next thing he knew, her hands were free, and she was dangling the cuffs from one finger. She grinned impishly.</p><p> </p><p>“Ta-da,” she giggled. Geralt couldn’t help the sideways smirk that spread across his face.</p><p> </p><p>“That just takes away all the fun,” he said impishly. Brienne’s grin only brightened.</p><p> </p><p>“For the thugs, certainly,” she said. “Need two hands for a sword.”</p><p> </p><p>Geralt was only mildly disappointed at the topic change, then felt irritated at himself for feeling disappointed. <em>You’re acting like a fool, </em>he chided himself. <em>Don’t get careless with her. </em>He accepted the subject change, and tried to shut out the odd feeling that knotted itself in his gut.</p><p> </p><p>“No magic?” he questioned, glancing at the shackles. Brienne rubbed her fingers over the metallic surface, her eyes going a little distant. She wasn’t quite looking at him anymore.</p><p><br/>“Not unless I have to,” she replied with far more honesty than Geralt had expected. She paused for another moment, her gaze a little troubled and distant, until it disappeared entirely and was replaced by her normal, impish stare.</p><p><br/>“When the thugs come to get me, I’ll raise a merry hell and keep them from taking me inside the tower. Don’t try to intervene; I want as many as possible to come out to help, and then I’ll make my escape. Try to step back as quick as you can; I’d rather not hit you any more than I have to.”</p><p> </p><p>Geralt grunted indignantly and crossed his arms over his chest.</p><p><br/>“You don’t <em>have </em>to hit me at all,” he glared at her.</p><p> </p><p>Brienne only smirked. “I’ve got to look the part of a prisoner, don’t I?”</p><p> </p><p>He rolled his eyes. “Fine. But if you break my nose, I’ll let the fiend eat you.”</p><p> </p><p>Brienne wrinkled her nose at him, and began shoving things back into her pack. “Not like a broken nose would change much,” she muttered. <br/><br/></p><p>Geralt was going to kill her. He really, really was.</p><p> </p><p>“The fiend’s lair is to the north of the tower... are you listening, Geralt? Wipe that scowl off your face; if you get lost, I can’t come to help you! Run straight north, about half a mile, and you’ll see a great hill with a gnarled tree atop it. The fiend’s cave is below it. Throw a bomb, make some noise, do whatever you need to wake it up, and then start running as fast as you can in the opposite direction.”</p><p> </p><p>Brienne finished packing her things, and stood to look at Geralt; all of the playfulness gone from her expression. Geralt rolled out his shoulders, and nodded at her sharply.</p><p> </p><p>“Ready when you are,” he said, mounting Roach, and giving Brienne a hand up as well.</p><p> </p><p>He still couldn’t shake the feeling that something was about to go terribly wrong.</p><p> </p><p>_______________________________</p><p> </p><p>When the tower came into view, Geralt pulled on Roach’s reins gently; slowing her to a trot. Brienne grumbled from behind him; she’d lain herself on her stomach across Roach’s back, her hands cuffed behind her back with the fake shackles, and a gag loosely bound over her mouth. She looked the part of a captured prisoner sure enough, but it couldn’t have been a comfortable disguise. He only hoped she wasn’t so winded she couldn’t fight when it came down to it.</p><p> </p><p><em>Who are you kidding? </em>Geralt thought with a scoff. <em>Do you really think that’s all it’ll take to stop this woman? </em></p><p>
  
</p><p>As he approached the fortress, a group of three guards rushed outside with their swords drawn; stopping a few yards away.</p><p> </p><p>“Halt!” the first of the baron’s men said, a tall man wearing red leather. “You’re trespassing on the property of the Bloody Baron! What’s your business here?”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m here to collect a bounty,” Geralt replied,  jerking his head at Brienne. Two of the guards lowered their swords ever so slightly, curiosity obviously getting the best of them, but their leader was not perturbed.</p><p> </p><p>“The baron hasn’t put out any bounties,” he spat. “If you’re trying to collect on a head, you’ll need to ride to Novigrad.”</p><p> </p><p>“I think the baron will appreciate this head a little more than the Hierarch will,” Geralt said, dismounting. He rounded the side of the horse, pulling Brienne off to land on her feet, then roughly pushing her to her knees. As soon as the thugs realized exactly who he’d brought, horrible sneers crossed their faces, and they clutched their weapons a little tighter. Geralt grit his teeth. Had he not known that Brienne could take care of herself, he would have never agreed to this plan.</p><p> </p><p>“Brienne of Ard Skellig,” the leader sneered, stepping forward lazily. “Not so tough now, are you?” He lifted the tip of his sword to Brienne’s chin; forcing her to look up. A smarter man might have been cowed by the look of pure malice in her eyes, but the thug was obviously drunk on his faux victory. Geralt had to give Brienne credit for how well she’d thought out at least this part of the plan.</p><p> </p><p>“I can’t tell you how grateful we are for your service to us,” the thug said with a disgusting sneer. “Brienne here has caused the baron quite a bit of trouble, you see. It’s high time we returned the favor.” He reached down suddenly to grab at Brienne’s collar, but Geralt moved faster; snatching his wrist.</p><p> </p><p>“Let’s discuss my payment first,” he said, barely keeping his voice calm. The hunter looked terrified for the briefest of moments before jerking free of Geralt’s grip.</p><p> </p><p>“As I said before: the baron hasn’t put out an official bounty on her head. No contract, no reward,” the thug spat.</p><p> </p><p>“And she was significant trouble to catch,” Geralt returned evenly. <em>Stall for time. Wait until she’s ready. </em>“Six hundred crowns.”</p><p> </p><p>The thug balked. “Six hundred crowns?” he cried. “I had known witchers to be thugs and murderers, but not common thieves!”</p><p> </p><p>“Last I heard, your baron makes his living off of petty thievery,” Geralt smiled nastily. “Six hundred crowns should be no problem for you. Otherwise, I put her back on the horse, and keep riding to Novigrad.”</p><p> </p><p>The thug snarled, and brandished his sword in what Geralt supposed was meant to be a threatening manner, but instead looked like he was attempting to wave a magic wand. Over his shoulder, Geralt could see three more hunters had stepped outside the tower; drawn by the commotion. He kept his face a mask of calm.</p><p> </p><p>“If you attempt to escape with that woman, you won’t make it more than ten yards,” the leader sneered, raising his hand to gesture at the top of the tower.</p><p> </p><p>Geralt heard the tell-tale sound of a cross bolt being loaded coming from somewhere atop the parapet, but he wasn’t concerned: it was easy enough to deflect a projectile from here as long as Brienne kept the rest of the baron’s men off of him. But he would have to run to the forest before the archer had a chance to reload; a risky plan that was proving more challenging as the other thugs began to form a sort of semi-circle in front of them. If he pressed them anymore they were likely to attack, and Brienne had made no indication of moving. But they were running out of time.</p><p> </p><p>“Fine,” he said through gritted teeth. He grabbed Brienne by the upper arm and hauled her roughly to her feet; holding tight to her bicep.</p><p> </p><p>“Anytime now,” he hissed in her ear.</p><p> </p><p>And then, something changed. The birds that had been noisily chattering in the trees suddenly went silent. The air seemed to still, and grow thick, and heavy. Over the horizon, dark storm clouds had begun to form, and the earth rumbled lowly with the sound of distant thunder. Geralt’s skin began to prickle as the smell of ozone filled the air. Even the thugs seemed to grow uncomfortable; shifting, and glancing up at the sky and then back at their leader, as if waiting for him to call a retreat. Thunder rumbled through the sky, long and deep, and the hunter with his sword pressed to Brienne’s throat jerked his head up to the sky.</p><p> </p><p>And then his head kept tipping backwards, until it rolled off his shoulders and fell to the ground with a heavy thud.  </p><p> </p><p>Geralt had missed the movement that detached the man’s head from his shoulders, but his heightened senses caught up with what was happening a breath before the rest of the thugs: Brienne had broken free of her shackles and launched herself forward with inhuman speed. The sword she’d hidden beneath her cloak glinted in the sunlight as it came down in another swift arc into the collarbone of the next closest thug. Time finally seemed to catch up to her, and the rest of the thugs jumped forward with angry shouts.</p><p> </p><p>Geralt drew his sword and charged forward; deflecting a blow just before it came down across Brienne’s back, then running his sword through the gut of another thug who tried to flank her as she charged forward; her short sword glinting dangerously in the waning sunlight.</p><p> </p><p>“It’s a trap!” someone screamed over the clash of swords, and angry shouts “Don’t let the bitch...”</p><p> </p><p>Before he could finish his sentence, a dark slash of red appeared across his throat, and his sentence ended in a choked gurgle. More thugs had swarmed out of the fortress, but Brienne had already bolted towards the edge of the forest, moving faster than the wind.</p><p> </p><p>“To the woods, Geralt!” she cried over her shoulder. “Hurry!”</p><p> </p><p>Geralt parried the blows aimed at him quickly, bursting through the throng of men that had gathered and rushed forward towards the tree line; only glancing over his shoulder to make sure the thugs had followed. Just before he broke through the tree line he heard the twang of a crossbow and his stomach dropped; he opened his mouth to warn Brienne, but knew he couldn’t warn her in time...</p><p> </p><p>The hiss of the bolt flying through the air was deafened by a sudden flash of lightning and thunder. A flash of blinding light filled the clearing, stunning Geralt for a brief moment, and he nearly careened headlong into a tree. When his vision had cleared, Brienne had disappeared.</p><p> </p><p>“Dammit,” he swore, and charged onwards. She must have run ahead to wake the fiend. They had agreed that the plan took priority, knowing good and well that they were perfectly capable of defending themselves, but Brienne had completely disappeared from his sight. Geralt grit his teeth as heavy drops of rain began to slash through the treetops and pelt against his face as he vaulted over roots and bushes, dodged between trees. The thugs  followed close behind with angry shouts and thundering footsteps. Geralt could have easily outrun them, but he let them stay close; taunting them closer to the fiend’s den.</p><p> </p><p>Another flash of lightning overhead, and Geralt heard the whizzing of another crossbow bolt. He grit his teeth, preparing to dodge, but suddenly realized that a hunter had managed to flank him to his left, and to his right, a rocky ledge blocked his path. He grit his teeth, clenched his sword tighter, and dropped into a slide; the bolt whizzing overhead.</p><p> </p><p>He’d barely gotten back to his feet before the sword of the thug on his left came down on his head and he blocked it with the hilt of his own sword, sidestepping away from the blow. The thugs surrounded him, blows raining down from every direction, forcing him onto the defensive; each opportunity he saw to land a killing blow, <em>any </em>kind of blow, was interrupted by a shove, a kick, a blow he barely deflected before catching another. He was outnumbered, and the baron’s men knew it: not even a witcher stood a chance against eight men, and wounded at that. His wound screamed in agony, and he could not tell if the warmth that trickled down his back was blood, or the torrents of rain that pelted his eyes.</p><p> </p><p>“Give up, witcher!” one of them screamed. “You’re outnumbered!”</p><p> </p><p>Geralt responded by driving the tip of his sword through the throat of the nearest thug. One down, seven left. His grim sense of victory was far too fleeting: in the moment it took to yank his sword from the dead man’s corpse, a heavy blow fell on the back of his head and his vision blurred at the pain that lanced through his skull. He stumbled, stunned by the blow, and swung wildly to prevent the blade of a sword from falling on his neck as he righted himself in the nick of time and stumbled backwards until his back pressed against a tree.</p><p> </p><p>His vision was still spinning. The blow had knocked him off balance; he was breathing hard, and his sword trembled ever so slightly in his hand against the pain that seemed to arc through his body. The men were no longer throwing wild blows as they began to realize they had him cornered. Through the sheets of rain that thundered against the forest floor, Geralt could see their twisted sneers as they slowly closed in on him with swords raised. His chest felt tight. His muscles trembled with exertion. The wounds on his back screamed against the rough bark of the tree and the pelting rain.</p><p> </p><p>“You should have just given us the bitch without a fight,” the man closest to him spat. “She cast her spell on you too, didn’t she?”</p><p> </p><p>“I’ll always take an excuse to kill rapists, thieves, and murderers,” Geralt replied coldly, ignoring the cold sense of dread that was starting to settle over him. But the thug only laughed nastily.</p><p> </p><p>“You must be fucking daft to not notice what she does to people; that, or she’s got you so thoroughly whipped you’d fall on your own sword if she asked you nicely!”</p><p> </p><p>“Incredibly enough, it didn’t take much coercion on her part to inspire a want to kill you,” Geralt snarled a response, but his voice hitched ever so slightly. How could he know for sure that Brienne hadn’t been lying to him? How could he <em>possibly </em>know? She’d been a bald-faced liar, up until he’d decided he’d had enough. Then she’d near fallen over herself to get him to stay, and he had. And then, he’d followed her straight to his death.</p><p> </p><p>“You’re fucking blind, mate,” another thug scoffed. “Another victim of a corrupt sorceress with too much power, and not enough to keep her entertained. Tell you what: we’ll give you a chance to save yourself, you poor fucking sop. Drop your sword, surrender quietly, and we’ll let you live; at least long enough for the baron to have a chat with you.”</p><p> </p><p>Lightning and thunder roared overhead. Rain splattered through the boughs of the tree, and Geralt grit his teeth against the pain that seared through his back, and the sick, twisting feeling in his gut. His medallion wasn’t humming, meaning the fiend wasn’t nearby; even if by all accounts, they should have at least been close to its territory. And Brienne was nowhere to be found.</p><p> </p><p>His thoughts whirled. Perhaps she’d already made it to the fiend. Perhaps this was just some convoluted trap. Perhaps she was a sorceress, just like the thug said, who simply enjoyed toying with men like him. Or, maybe, she’d simply been killed by the fiend. Geralt didn’t know which fate was worse, but he knew he was trapped. The offer repulsed him, but he knew surrendering was the only way out. The more he thought about it, the more it began to appeal to him: he could walk away from this. He could walk away with clean hands, and Meggy and the villagers would never know better. He could avoid another Blaviken. Brienne would simply fade into an unpleasant memory, and not a nightmare that haunted every choice he made.</p><p> </p><p>But before he could make his decision, his medallion thrummed and the trees to his left suddenly exploded outwards with a deafening crash. The thugs that had not been crushed by fallen trees or impaled by wooden shrapnel drew their swords with terrified shouts as a great, hulking figure crashed in between them; tossing its antlered head with a terrible roar: the fiend. Brienne had found the fiend. But where was Brienne?</p><p> </p><p>Two of the barons men immediately launched themselves at the beast’s legs, only to be swatted away by the beast’s paw. Another tried to stab it in the neck and the beast simply chomped down onto his shoulder and lifted its head; shaking the man like a dog with a bone before releasing him flying into the woods, where he collapsed with a bloody groan.</p><p> </p><p>And Geralt stood frozen to the spot; pinned against the tree, and waiting for a chance to make his escape. The beast had not noticed him yet; the smell of fresh blood and mud and rain washing away his scent, but he knew he had to move before the beast spotted him. But just as he thought this, a hunter standing directly in front of him shouted a war cry before charging forward foolishly. The fiend spun to face him, and crouched low before springing forward and flying directly at Geralt.</p><p> </p><p>Geralt threw himself out of the way just as the beast crashed into the tree with the thug in its jaws, and watched with gritted teeth as the fiend slammed the man against the tree until he hung limply in his jaws. The smell of blood and carrion filled his nose standing this close to the beast, and Geralt quickly looked away from the third eye that opened on top of it’s forehead. But then, he spotted something wrapped around the fiend’s bloodied paw: the shredded remains of a familiar cloak, soaked in blood. Geralt’s chest tightened, and his vision swam again.</p><p> </p><p>Brienne had found the fiend. But it had gotten to her first.</p><p> </p><p>The remaining thugs attempted to surround the fiend and began to hack and slash at its haunches, which only served to piss the creature off. It tossed its head with a roar and the side of its antler caught a hunter in the stomach and sent him flying into a tree where he landed with a sickening crunch. The sound was enough to pull Geralt back to reality.</p><p> </p><p><em>The tower, </em>he thought. <em>I need to lead it to the tower. </em>His thoughts suddenly cleared, the haze gone from his mind, and although his chest was still tight, he knew what had to be done.</p><p> </p><p><em>Survive,</em> Geralt thought. <em>I must survive. </em></p><p> </p><p>Geralt reached into his belt and found a small bomb. A child’s toy, really, meant to startle and disorient monsters, and plenty enough to get the fiend’s attention without hurting it. He snapped his fingers over the fuse with igni, and immediately chucked it at the fiend’s head. He watched it soar before bouncing of the fiend’s head; distracting it from the remaining three thugs, and there was a heart stopping moment where the fiend spun on him, and he was sure he would die. But then, the bomb went off, and the fiend panicked; bucking and roaring and effectively crushing the remaining hunters before charging at Geralt.</p><p> </p><p>But Geralt had already taken off running. <em>Not much of a head start, </em>he thought. He swore as the rain seemed to beat down even harder, practically blinding him as he crashed through the trees and foliage, trying his best not to trip over obstacles and praying he didn’t crash into a tree blindly. He heard a roar from close behind him, too close, and the sound of splintering wood as the deranged beast crashed through the trees. The smell of blood, wet fur, and carrion was strong in his nose, and he could have been imagining it, but he thought he could feel the hot breath of the fiend as it bore down from behind him.</p><p> </p><p>Geralt swore, and picked up the pace.</p><p> </p><p>When he broke the tree line, the rest of the baron’s men were lying in wait: two archers at the top of the tower, and three more on the ground, their swords drawn. When Geralt appeared they raised their swords and the archers let loose of their arrows. Time seemed to slow down: Geralt knew he needed to dodge. But when he tried to dodge to the side, fiend suddenly swept its arm out and caught Geralt in the side of the ribs, sending him flying through the air.</p><p> </p><p>Geralt skidded across the grass with a horrible thud, his ribs screaming in agony. He tried to sit up but his head swam and black spots danced in his vision. He was soaked to the bone and it made his entire body feel leaden. He couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, but he had to, or the fiend would certainly find him after it had its fill of the barons men...</p><p> </p><p>He could hear them screaming in agony as the beast tore them to shreds. He could hear the clatter of swords as they realized their iron was useless against a beast impervious to all but silver. He could hear the beast roar victoriously as the last of the thugs fell, and then, all he could hear was the sound of snuffling, and heavy footsteps as the beast drew closer. Geralt’s vision was flickering in and out as he watched the beast approach him; helpless to do anything. Geralt closed his eyes, and waited for the pain that was sure to come.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Witchers never die in their beds, after all. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>But no pain came. The beast halted. Sniffed once, twice. Grumbled low in its deep, bellowing chest... And then turned back towards the forest.</p><p> </p><p>Geralt could no longer feel anything; not surprise, nor relief, nor sadness. All thoughts except the screaming pain faded away. He must have lost consciousness for a moment, because the next thing he knew, the rain had stopped but the sky was still dark, and tumultuous. He slowly, agonizingly, drew himself into a sitting position, ignoring the way his ribs and his back screamed at him, and stared emptily at the carnage surrounding him.</p><p> </p><p>The blood of the hunters was still fresh, though it had been soaked into the ground by the rain. Ghouls had not yet smelled their decomposing flesh, but Geralt knew he shouldn’t linger. He needed to burn the bodies; needed to loot the fortress, find the money stolen from Meggy and Tully, and return it to them, and on the way, figure out a way to tell them that Brienne...</p><p> </p><p>His chest tightened. Death had never been part of the plan for her. She had been so convinced of her own plans success. She had given him an out, of course, but she never once considered that something might backfire on her. For all her fear, for all her uncertainty, she’d never considered death an option.</p><p> </p><p><em>Idiot, </em>Geralt tried to be angry, but found his own strange grief swallow his chest. <em>Did you ever consider how your death would certainly kill them too? That it may kill me too? </em></p><p> </p><p>He shouldn’t linger here, he knew, but he couldn’t find the strength to move. Every movement was painful. The wounds on his back throbbed in agony, and his chest burned with every breath. He could not ride a horse like this. Not without someone to help him...</p><p> </p><p>And then, his medallion suddenly hummed, and all thoughts of pain left him. His fingers immediately tightened around his silver sword, sniffed the air for the smell of necrophages, but was surprised by the sound of footsteps approaching from the forest. And then, a few years ahead, a figure covered in mud, blood, and gore stumble from the tree line; clutching their side and lurching heavily. Geralt wondered for a moment if a thug had miraculously survived, until the figure lifted its head, and Geralt’s heart soared: even beneath the layer of grime, Geralt could see a glint of silver hair as Brienne stumbled into the clearing: wounded, exhausted, and covered in blood, but very much alive.</p><p><br/>“Brienne...!” Geralt tried to call out, but the pain in his chest constricted his voice. But it was enough. Brienne turned towards the sound of his voice and stumbled forward, and as she approached he could see an expression of pure relief across her face.</p><p> </p><p>“You’re <em>alive,</em>”  she gasped before collapsing onto her hands and knees beside him, coughing and choking and wheezing, but... safe. She was safe, and alive, and Geralt had never felt so relieved.</p><p> </p><p>The weight of his relief hit him like a ton of bricks, and he let himself fall backwards to the mud. He was still wheezing and winded from that knock to the ribs. He winced as his hand fell on his chest. <em>Broken, </em>he cursed. <em>Or cracked. </em>But he paid no mind to the ache in his chest, or the agony in his back, and simply stared at Brienne with a breathless sense of amazement.</p><p> </p><p>Brienne finally seemed to catch her breath and sat back on her heels; breathing slowly and deeply, and staring at the sky. Her face was caked with blood and mud, her hair was torn and ripped out of its braids, and she was positively covered in filth. Her shirt was ripped, and there was a wound on her side that slowly oozed blood, but it didn’t seem to bother her. And no surprise there: even wounded, Geralt could see the raw power in every line of her; way her muscular frame rose with each deep breath. The way the raw power that emanated off of her still seemed to sparkle and snap between her fingertips, filling the air with the presence of her power...</p><p> </p><p>Brienne must have felt him staring because she lowered her face from the darkened sky to look down at him. Her blue eyes met his, and Geralt felt pinned to the spot. She looked pained and guilty for the briefest of moments until the presence slowly receded. She watched his face carefully; searching for something. Waiting.</p><p> </p><p>“The barons men said I’d been enthralled by you,” he said finally. Brienne furrowed her brow, opened her mouth to reply, but Geralt cut her off. “I think I believe them, too. It’s the only explanation I can find for why I’m so relieved you’re not dead.”</p><p> </p><p>Brienne blinked at him, her blue eyes wide and vulnerable in a way he’d never seen them before. And then, she threw back her head, and laughed.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>This chapter was such a BITCH to finish because I'm horrible at/hate writing fight scenes, and honestly I'm so excited to move into all the angst I have planned for the last few chapters. But all in good time.</p><p>Edited and re-uploaded 4/24</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Litany Against Fear</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>brief bit of steaminess towards the end, but nothing explicit. </p><p>Edited and re-uploaded 4/24</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>By the time Geralt and Brienne finally found the energy to rise from where they had collapsed on the muddy earth, the skies had cleared, and the sun beamed down through the golden autumn leaves. Brienne looted the empty tower for the stolen money, and any other goods she might come across, while Geralt set about burning the bodies littering the ground, then setting off in search of Roach: she had run away once the fighting began, but hadn’t gone far. Geralt found her drinking from a winding little stream, hidden in the woods only a few dozen yards away. He’d dropped to his knees to drink from the stream himself; suddenly parched and famished and feeling every ache and pain in his body. His ribs were starting to feel better, which he took as a good sign that they weren’t broken and healing quickly. The stubborn wounds on his back still stung and ached, but Geralt could not feel any dried blood, and the stitches were – incredibly – still intact.</p><p> </p><p><em>Stranger things have happened, </em>he thought, as he splashed water on his face.</p><p> </p><p>Brienne appeared a moment later carrying a large bag that rattled with loot, but did not waste time gloating over it: she  immediately began shucking her filthy, bloodstained clothing, and moved a few feet down stream to wash the muck off her clothing. Geralt was a little surprised that she’d stripped completely down to her underthings, but Brienne was entirely unbothered by it, or was otherwise too tired to care: as soon as she’d finished laying out her clothing to dry over a branch, she laid down in the deepest part of the water, and relaxed with her eyes closed; allowing the current wash the blood and filth from her hair. Geralt found himself sorely tempted to do the same. The sun was warm, the creek was cool, and Brienne’s plan, her insane, suicidal, absolutely brilliant plan, had worked. Why not celebrate a little? Geralt stripped down to his skivvies, and slipped into the creek, letting the water rush over him, and simply let himself be.</p><p> </p><p>There was a long moment of quiet; a peaceful stillness that filled the air. The rustle of wind in the turning leaves, the quiet rush of the creek, the chirping of birds oblivious to the two invaders in their home. Geralt had spent much time in the wilderness, on the days when towns shut him out, or pogroms made the main roads unsafe for folks like him. He’d fought against nature at those times for survival. He’d never thought of the serenity of the forest as more than a passing detail; another fleeting invasion of his senses. It was simply another force to fight against, so he mustn’t let his guard down.</p><p> </p><p>But the strangest feeling had come over him as he slowed his movements, and simply allowed the water to rush around him and the sunlight warm his face: he’d felt that he’d simply melted into the cool water. He felt that he’d become the wind that rustled the meadowed grass around him; disappeared into the shadows the bright autumn light cast through the treetops. Peaceful. He felt peaceful. He only realized he’d closed his eyes when he heard a faint splashing noise, and his eyes flew open to see Brienne settling onto the edge of the creek. She had an odd expression; faraway and almost... melancholy, he thought, except for the slight upturn of her lips. <em>She must feel relieved, </em>Geralt thought idly. <em>Or worried, though I’ve no idea why she would be. </em></p><p> </p><p>Geralt wanted to ask her a thousand different things, but he was afraid to shatter the peace that still hung in the air. It may have been selfish, but he allowed it to stretch for a few precious moments longer. He couldn’t rightly say why. Peace is only ever temporary, but for some reason Brienne made it feel more real. He was staring at her, he realized, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to care. It wasn’t as if Brienne was trying to hide from him. In fact, he felt that this was, in an odd sort of way, her showing him a more vulnerable side of herself that she struggled to put into words.</p><p> </p><p><em>Look at me, </em>she seemed to say as she moved sleepily along the bank, twisting her silvery hair into a braid. <em>Look and see. I am the same as you. I live, I breathe, I move as you do.</em> <em>You can run your fingers over my skin, and it is as real as your own. </em></p><p>
  
</p><p>In contrast, every line of her body was composed of hard lines, and lean muscle. She’d seen her fair share of thin winters, that much was evident. But the strength and power beneath her skin was tangible. There was a scar on the outside of her right hip that seemed new, and a scar on the back of her ribs that seemed old, and a thousand other cuts and bruises and burns that were newer than all the rest. And then, in even greater contrast, her entire body was covered in light freckles; a constellation across her skin. Geralt examined her face closer, and realized that she had freckles across her face too: so faint he’d hardly noticed, for he’d been so distracted by those startling eyes of hers he hadn’t looked close enough. She had a nose that had been broken one too many times, and her jaw was broad and mean, and her lips were thin, but the expression she had made these parts of her look lovely.</p><p> </p><p><em>Beautiful, </em>Geralt thought distantly. <em>She looks beautiful. </em></p><p>
  
</p><p>Brienne glanced over at him for the first time since they’d come to the creek, and her gaze looked a little sleepy until she realized he was staring. She tried to look indignant, but apparently gave up and instead settled back on her elbows. He met her gaze steadily, and this time, he did not feel the urge to look away.</p><p> </p><p>“I thought you’d be happier to finally be rid of the baron’s posse,” Geralt finally spoke up, his voice softer than he’d thought it would be. Brienne hummed thoughtfully.</p><p> </p><p>“I am happy,” she said. “But mostly I feel... hmm. Well, I can’t rightly say what I feel. But this was a long time coming. I was mightily fearful for Meggy and the rest of the village, and it brings me peace to know that they’ll be safe while I’m away. Thank you, witcher, for your part in that. You’ve done not just me a favor, but all of us.”  </p><p> </p><p>Geralt hummed and turned his face to the sun. They were silent for another long moment, until Geralt had another thought.</p><p> </p><p>“So why Kovir?” he asked. When Brienne did not answer immediately he glanced back down at her to see that her brow had furrowed slightly.</p><p> </p><p>“I’ve some business to attend to there,” she said evasively, not quite meeting his eye, and Geralt felt an odd swell of annoyance.  </p><p> </p><p>“After everything that just happened, you still can’t give me a straight answer about anything,” he said with a sneer. Brienne fixed him with a flat look.  </p><p> </p><p>“I don’t owe you a damn thing, witcher,” she said lowly. Geralt sighed, anger slipping into bitter resignation. So much for peace. He made as if to get up, but Brienne stopped him suddenly.</p><p> </p><p>“Where are you going?” she cried out, looking startled.  </p><p> </p><p>“You don’t owe me anything, so why am I even here?” he said sourly. Brienne looked like she wanted to shout back at him, but she bit her lip and visibly reigned in her tone.</p><p> </p><p>“I should nae have said that,” she said. “I owe you more than you can imagine. I just...” she trailed off, and could no longer look him in the eye.</p><p> </p><p>Geralt stared at her with a hard expression. He thought back over the past two days; every strange conversation, and all her secrets. She’d strung him along and he had, inexplicably, allowed her to. He’d acted recklessly, foolishly, dangerously; all because of her. He didn’t know who this woman was, what her motives were, or what other plans she might have. And yet, he’d still trusted her. He’d placed his life in her hands. He stood by what he’d said the night before: her secrets were her own business. But he deserved answers.</p><p> </p><p>“You still don’t trust me,” he replied flatly. <br/><br/></p><p>“Nothing so simple as that,” Brienne replied bitterly. “You’ve certainly earned my trust; especially after all I’ve demanded of you.”</p><p><br/>“That doesn’t answer my question.”</p><p> </p><p>“I get the feeling you won’t like any answer I give you,” she said, her voice tight.</p><p> </p><p>Geralt bristled and sat forward, his expression black. “I’ve made more risky, life-threatening decisions in the past two days than I have total in the past two years. And it’s all because I can’t seem to say no to you, even though you’ve lied to me, cheated me out of payment twice, and continue to jerk me around with only the barest hint of details. I’m either losing my mind, or those powers of yours are doing something to...”</p><p> </p><p>“No!” Brienne suddenly cried, and Geralt started: her eyes were wide and filled with panic. Then quickly composed herself again, clenching her jaw tightly. “No, that’s not... I would <em>never </em>do such a thing. Purposefully or otherwise. I’m not certain I’m capable of such a thing.”  </p><p> </p><p>“You know, if you told me about your powers, I might be able to help you,” Geralt began slowly.</p><p> </p><p>“There are some things even witchers cannot kill,” Brienne said with a tight smile, obviously trying to shut down the conversation. He could hear the fear in her voice; that, at least, seemed genuine. It was one of the only genuine emotions he’d seen her express: fear, and rage.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m not trying to kill you, Brienne,” he said, as gently as he could. “Whatever is happening to you is obviously scaring the shit out of you. Do you really want to live your life in fear?”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m not afraid of a goddamn thing,” Brienne said tightly. “And why should I be? Whatever this bloody curse has done, it’s made me fiendishly hard to kill. You’ve already helped me, by helping kill those damn thieves. There’s nothing more you can do for me.”</p><p> </p><p>Any semblance of peace she might have had suddenly disappeared. Brienne stood swiftly and began grabbing her still-dripping clothing off the tree branches, making as if to dress. A strange feeling came over Geralt in that moment, and the next thing he knew, he had followed her out of the creek and snatching her shirt off the branch before she could attempt to pop it over her head. Brienne spun on him in surprise, her eyes wide and flickering between surprise and annoyance.  </p><p> </p><p>“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” she snapped. “Give me my bloody shirt, Geralt!”</p><p> </p><p>“Not until you give me a straight answer,” he snapped in reply. “You don’t need to give me your whole sob, life story, you don’t have to tell me about your powers. But you have to give me one truth, just like before: why me?” </p><p>
  
</p><p>“I already fucking told you why,” Brienne hissed, trying to snatch her shirt back, but Geralt held the sopping article out of her reach. She wasn’t much shorter than him, but she wasn’t quite angry enough to assault him while both of them were barely dressed. He suspected this fact was his only saving grace in that moment, because the look of anger that crossed her face nearly cowed him.</p><p> </p><p>“No, you didn’t; not really. You keep spinning up these half-truths and deceptions, and pretending like you know it all. You know what I think? I think you’re just as scared and clueless as the rest of the poor sops on the continent; you’re just trying to hide it behind your arrogance, and pretenses of power.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, bloody brilliant, truly,” Brienne spat. “I didn’t take you to be the philosophical type, Geralt, but you’ve really sussed me out.”</p><p> </p><p>“Get over yourself,” Geralt said coldly, stepping back as Brienne made another swipe for her shirt. She was losing patience, he knew; was trying to cow him into dropping it, but he wasn’t falling for it. She’d gotten him this far, and he intended to see this through. “You don’t get to pretend like this is all about you anymore. Meggy warned you not to drag the village into your business, and yet here we are. I’ve got blood on my hands, Brienne, and I want to know why you chose me above every other cold-blooded killer out there to help you.”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m <em>telling </em>you the truth, dammit!” Brienne was openly shouting now, her blue eyes glittering angrily. “A little bard told me all about a big, scary witcher that’s too clever for his own good, and I decided to hire him. If I’d known what a fucking bleeding heart you were, I’d have never done it! Does that make you happy?”</p><p> </p><p>“No, because it’s still a fucking lie!” Geralt shouted back. He’d dropped her shirt on the ground. Neither of them noticed.</p><p> </p><p>“What do you want me to say, Geralt?” Brienne seethed at him; her eyes hard. “That I thought the idea of a witcher killing monstrous men was poetic justice? That I was just curious? That I sought you out, because I thought the Butcher of Blaviken would kill for me without a question asked?”</p><p> </p><p>Geralt heard a low hum fill the air. The smell of ozone returned as lightning seemed to crackle between her clenched fists. Her eyes were filled with nothing but rage. Fear, and rage.</p><p> </p><p>“I can make it about pity and self-loathing if you want, if it makes it easier for you to swallow. You think I’m just a pretty girl with a sob story? Fine, then! Go on believing that if it helps you sleep at night! It won’t matter what I say otherwise because you won’t accept any answer I give you, and that’ll just have to suit you because the truth would fucking <em>kill you!” </em></p><p>
  
</p><p>A deafening boom of thunder accompanied her words and both of them startled away from each other; breathing heavily. Brienne looked like a cornered animal; her eyes bright and wild, breathing heavily.</p><p> </p><p>“Why?” she hissed suddenly. “Why do you care so much? Why do I matter to you?”</p><p> </p><p>“Probably the same reason I matter to you,” Geralt replied numbly. “You’re no more a sob story than I am a butcher.” Brienne clenched her jaw, and lowered her head.</p><p> </p><p>“I’ve spent so many years... so many <em>fucking </em>years trying to find an answer,” she hissed. “Everywhere I look, I cannae find one, so I run, and I keep making the same mistakes over and over. You’d think someone like me would figure it out by now. How to stop making such stupid, petty, human mistakes. But perhaps that’s why I keep making them. Because it helps me imagine that I’m something real. Even if that something is a lie.”</p><p> </p><p>Geralt felt like he’d been punched in the gut. He did not understand, but he could not bring himself to push her to explain; not while her anguish was so apparent for him to see. Somehow, she had completely bared herself to him, without revealing anything at all. He marveled at it, as much as it infuriated him, but... he found that he rather did not care anymore. Instead of agonizing over an answer, one he knew he would not longer find, he settled a hand on Brienne’s shoulder, and squeezed it gently. When Brienne looked up at him in surprise, he squeezed it gently again.</p><p> </p><p>“You seem real enough to me,” he said. The expression of anguish began to slip from her face, as well as the worry and frown lines that seemed so out of place on her face. Something shifted in her expression; so imperceptible, and yet it seemed to completely disrupt Geralt’s sense of equilibrium. He was spinning, spiraling, lost in the intensity of her gaze.</p><p> </p><p><em>Beautiful, </em>he thought distantly.</p><p> </p><p>It was only when Brienne’s mouth crashed onto his that he realized he’d spoken out loud, and by then he didn’t care as he lost himself in the taste of her<em>: </em>cinnamon and cloves and a bright, clear taste that exploded across his tongue and seemed to race through his veins.</p><p>
  
</p><p><em>Electricity, </em>he thought distantly. <em>This is what lightning must taste like. </em></p><p>
  
</p><p>He grabbed at Brienne’s waist and pulled her towards him, and she went willingly; sprawling on top of him, her legs straddling his waist. Their kiss grew sloppier and headier and Geralt’s head was spinning, and his heart was hammering so hard he was certain she could feel it for how close she was pressed against him. He should be gentle, he knew; shouldn’t grab her and take her as he wanted. But she was not fragile, and she reminded him of this by the way she ran her fingers through his hair and pulled, baring his throat to her.</p><p> </p><p>She attacked his neck without pause; biting and sucking and kissing down his throat, paying sweet attention to each scar she found until she reached his collar where she bit down against the bone. Geralt snarled in response, fisting one hand in the hair at the base of her skull and the other tugging roughly at her breast band. Brienne quickly batted his hand away and divested herself of the fabric. But before she could attack his neck again, Geralt bucked his hips; flipping her roughly onto her back and rolling on top of her; pinning her hips in place with his. She gasped at the feeling of him grinding at the junction of her legs and Geralt let out a deep groan of his own, burying his face in the valley between her breasts; nipping and licking and sucking at every inch of skin until she was gasping and moaning and tugging at his hair.</p><p> </p><p>He'd never imagined she could come so completely undone like this; guarded and secretive as she’d been only a day before, but he was slowly beginning to reconcile the woman below him with the woman who’d rescued him from the wraith; who’d killed three witch hunters faster than his eye could follow. Who was fierce and loyal and irreverent and cocky, and deeply, viscerally <em>afraid</em>. But Geralt felt in the way she moved against him that she refused to be a victim to her fear. She was not a victim of circumstance; of humanity, or of gods-forsaken destiny. She had taken her fear, and made it her own, and Geralt all at once understood why he’d followed her to the brink without question: she had taken his fear from him, and made it her own. And then she had conquered it.</p><p> </p><p>As they both came together and then undone, Geralt swore he saw the night sky painted in the stars on her skin, and the moonlight in her hair.</p><p> </p><p>__________________</p><p> </p><p>They dozed in the long grass by the creek until the air grew cold and the light began to disappear over the horizon. Geralt wanted to move away from the water, where it would be warmer, but Brienne had simply built up a little fire ring, and then with a snap of her fingers, an unnaturally warm little campfire blazed next to them. Geralt spread his cloak over them, and as Brienne  settled in against his chest and as the cold began to seep from his bones, he found he was more comfortable here than in any old inn bed he’d ever slept in.</p><p> </p><p>He fell asleep just as the moon began to rise in the night sky, and immediately, the façade of peace crumbled to ash.</p><p> </p><p>He was standing on the walls of Kaer Morhen overlooking the mountains, and night had fallen. The sky was black as pitch and dotted with stars, except he could clearly see the landscape in front of him, illuminated by an unseen light source. Far in the distance, he could see the forest burning. The fire was engulphing the mountainside, overtaking the forest paths leading up to the fortress. It would reach the walls, soon. He tried to turn and run, to warn the others, but a presence at his back held him in place. He struggled and fought, screamed for help, but no one answered.</p><p> </p><p>His dream shifted. He was standing inside the keep, now, and the walls were empty. The stones rang hollow. They should have screamed with the thousands of voices of boys who had died within them. But no one was around to hear them.</p><p> </p><p>A white wolf stood in the center of the hall, glaring at him with familiar blue eyes.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>This place has been forgotten, and you will be too.  </em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>He was standing outside the keep on the drawbridge. The fire was racing towards him; engulphing the world in flames. The sun had begun to rise, and the world turned red. The heat threatened to consume him. He could not run, for there was nowhere to go.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Humanity is stained by shame, and it chooses fire to cleanse it. They will be consumed. They will be forgotten. They will perish along with you. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>The flames exploded outwards, and as they rushed towards him, he could just make out the outline of a fiend within the flames.</p><p> </p><p>___________________</p><p> </p><p>Brienne woke with a strangled gasp that startled Geralt from his own nightmare. He grabbed at his sword instinctively: his heart was pounding, his muscles were tense, and he was covered in a sheen of sweat.</p><p> </p><p>“What the hell?” he muttered. He turned to Brienne, was staring in horror at the treetops ahead of them. When Geralt followed her gaze, he felt bile rise in his throat: miles away, above the tops of the tallest trees, he could see the outline of an orange horizon, and a thick cloud of black smoke that filled the night sky.</p><p> </p><p>“The village,” Brienne gasped. “They’re burning the village.”  </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Smoke and Ruin</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Geralt pushed Roach into a gallop; slowing only when the beast began to fight against him. Brienne was silent the entire ride, but Geralt could feel her burning from behind him. He didn’t try to talk to her, or look behind at her expression. He was afraid of what he might find.</p><p> </p><p>The smell of smoke and charred flesh grew stronger the closer they got. Ash was beginning to fall from the sky by the time  they reached the first burnt hut, completely collapsed, and still smoldering. Without warning, Brienne suddenly slide out of the saddle too quickly for Geralt to stop her, and took off running into the wall of smoke and fire ahead.</p><p> </p><p>“Brienne, no!” Geralt tried to call out after her, but the thick smoke choked him. He couldn’t keep Roach here. He turned her around quickly and dropped her reins a safe distance away so she could easily escape if the fire made it to the trees. Then he pulled a strip of cloth out of his pack; pouring water over it to soak the fabric, and tying it around his face before.</p><p> </p><p><em>As good as it’s gonna get, </em>Geralt thought grimly, before charging into town after Brienne.</p><p> </p><p>It was a nightmare. Not a single structure had been spared: the blacksmiths forge had been destroyed, and molten rocks spilled onto the wooden deck of the house. Some of the houses had bodies in front of them; not burnt, but bloodied by swords and blunt objects. Geralt nearly tripped, and shuddered when he realized he’d tripped over the shoulder of one of the young children that had greeted them yesterday morning.</p><p> </p><p><em>Bastards, </em>Geralt swore. <em>Sick, depraved bastards. </em></p><p> </p><p>All of the houses were completely engulphed in flames, and his sensitive ears picked up the sound of slowly dying screams from inside. Beyond that, over the roar of flames, he could hear shouts and commands and wicked, terrible laughter, but he could not pinpoint where. It didn’t matter: he needed to find Brienne and get out of there before the baron’s men found her first.   </p><p> </p><p>He drew his sword just as a thug carrying a torch round the corner, and Geralt felt a sick feeling of glee. He gave the man plenty of time to notice him as he stalked up, plenty of time for him to recognize that he was going to die, before Geralt cut a long, deep slash in his gut and kicked him to the ground. The man fell with an agonized scream, clutching at his stomach desperately as his innards began to leak to the ground.</p><p> </p><p>Geralt turned away.</p><p> </p><p>He could no longer hear screaming; only the laughter of the thugs somewhere nearby. There had to have been dozens of them. Geralt grit his teeth as a flaming building groaned, and threatened to collapse on the street in front of him; he ran past before it collapsed entirely, keeping his breaths short, and squinting his eyes against the smoke.</p><p> </p><p>This was a coordinated attack. These flames had been burning for hours now: the baron’s men had to have known Brienne would be leaving, or else they’d never have attempted something on this scale. Or, they thought she would still be in the village, and this was their way of killing her: they’d burned the entire town to ashes, just to get to her. Geralt remembered how the thugs back at the fortress had talked about her. They thought she was a sorceress at worst; a nonhuman at best, and the only way to cleanse such things from the earth in their eyes, was through fire.</p><p> </p><p>The smoke grew thicker the closer he got to the center of town, and the voices grew louder. Geralt caught a glimpse of a white shirt, and realized Brienne was just ahead of him, and he picked up speed: He needed to get Brienne, and get out of here. There was no way even she could survive something like this. Geralt could feel his own lungs starting to burn, despite his mask. Brienne had nothing. <br/><br/>Geralt quickly overtook her and grabbed her arm; she tried to fling him off, but realizing it was him, she released him. Her face was red, and her eyes were watering from the heavy smoke, but her expression was filled with rage and fury.</p><p> </p><p>“I need to find Meggy!” she choked out, then collapsed into a fit of coughing. Geralt pressed a spare cloth to her nose and mouth.  </p><p> </p><p>“There’s no one left, Brienne!” Geralt cried. “These fires have been burning for hours! If the flames haven’t killed them, the baron’s men have!”</p><p> </p><p>“Not Meggy,” Brienne snarled through the rag. “Not her.”</p><p> </p><p>She jerked away from Geralt and took off down the road, and Geralt had no choice but to follow. He heard voices getting louder; more angry: they had been spotted. They would close in any time now, and this time, there was no fiend to kill off the extras for them.</p><p> </p><p>The smoke began to clear a bit as they approached the center of the town, and Geralt could see Brienne suddenly skid to a halt. He realized with dawning horror what she saw. He could hardly recognize any of the buildings engulfed in flame, but he immediately recognized the inn. It had taken the longest to burn; it’s heavy, treated wood fighting against the catching flame. Smoke still poured from the inside however, and Geralt knew it wouldn’t be long before it succumbed like the rest.</p><p> </p><p>But Brienne wasn’t looking at the building. She was looking at a burnt corpse lying by the open front door, a burnt crossbow in its hands.</p><p> </p><p>Brienne slowly, painfully stepped towards the corpse, before dropping to her knees a few feet away; unable to move forward. Unable to hold her friend, even in death.</p><p> </p><p>There was a thundering sound of footsteps, and suddenly they were surrounded. Dozens of the barons men had filled the area, trapping them in front of the burning inn. Geralt raised his sword, but knew it was futile.</p><p> </p><p>One of the men stepped forward, his face covered by a mask, but his hideous voice still clear over the roar of the fire.</p><p> </p><p>“Look at it, sorceress!” he screamed. “This is what you fucking get! This is payback for every one of our men you’ve killed; every wife and child you made husband and fatherless! This is what your slaughter has done!”</p><p> </p><p>Geralt’s throat tightened but Brienne didn’t respond. He couldn’t see her face, but neither did she move from her kneeling position. She just kept staring. Staring at the corpse that used to be a blonde haired, blue eyed girl, who loved nothing more than to hear stories from adventurers.  </p><p> </p><p>“You should have come quietly a long time ago, witch,” the baron’s man spat. “You could have saved everyone a fucking lot of trouble. But the boys do love a good bonfire, so maybe I should thank your little friend for the tip she left us! Gotta keep these bastards busy somehow!”</p><p> </p><p>Geralt immediately remembered the barmaid who’d fallen in love with one of the thugs. The barmaid one who’d been hovering around their table while Brienne suggested her batshit crazy plan to him. He immediately knew what she had done.  </p><p> </p><p>“Enough pouting,” the thug spat, stepping forward towards Brienne. “Come quietly, yeah? Or I’ll cut off your fucking fingers, and throw them in the fire.”  </p><p> </p><p>Geralt watched as Brienne slowly, slowly raised her head. And then, she screamed. The sound tore through his gut; agonized and broken and wailing. She began to writhe, her arms convulsing and flailing as she rose to her feet. And then, Geralt realized with a dawning horror what was happening a split second before the hunters did: as Brienne rose to her feet she continued to rise, her legs and arms extending, a great set of horns sprouting from her head. The scream that filled the air unbroken began to morph into a roar, and when Brienne turned around, there was no sign that a woman had stood in her spot.</p><p> </p><p>Instead, there was a fiend with pure white fur.</p><p> </p><p>Geralt was the only one who had the presence of mind to run. The rest of the men did not, and instead tried to rush at her; only to be violently swiped into the flaming buildings. Geralt could hear the sounds of destruction following close behind as the thugs attempted to corral the fiend, and instead found their swift deaths. Geralt looked over her shoulder to watched as she crashed into the side of a building and caught burning logs on her antlers, only to swing her mighty head around and send the logs flying into a handful of thugs attempting to follow her.</p><p> </p><p>Forty men. Geralt had estimated forty men had attacked the town, and all of them were being slowly, violently, completely slaughtered. Even as he ran, even as his heart pounded and his lungs screamed for air and his basest instincts told him to run in fear from the rabid monster behind him, one cruel, hateful thought filled his mind:</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Good. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>He skirted around a corner just as the fiend skidded to a stop behind him, charging back in the opposite direction at some thugs with crossbows. Geralt heard a horrible pained roar as the bolts hit their marks, but he could not afford to stop: the tree line was only a few yards away, and he needed to escape to safety until he could be sure the fiend was done with its frenzy. He had no clue what Brienne was capable of; if she still remembered him, or if she remembered anything at all besides pain and rage.</p><p> </p><p><em>Pain, and rage, and fear.</em> That’s all she had ever known.</p><p> </p><p>Geralt reached the tree line and skidded to hide behind a thick tree trunk, tearing away the mask from his face and taking a great gasp of semi-clean air before forcing himself to slow his breathing; listening to the sounds of destruction from the town behind him, and waited for it to stop.</p><p> </p><p>It took no more than five minutes, but felt like an eternity. Geralt listened to bones break; to heads collide; to guts spill across the scorched earth. He heard the fiend roar in agony and sorrow. He clenched his teeth and waited until the last cry of fear from the thugs was silenced, and the only sound that could be heard was the roar of the fires, and the heavy footsteps of the fiend.</p><p> </p><p>Geralt peaked around the tree and saw the fiend stalking through the village again; slowly. It was limping and bleeding and sagging. Geralt blinked, and the next moment, the fiend had disappeared and had been replaced by Brienne. Geralt didn’t hesitate: he rushed forward, and Brienne turned to him as he approached; haggard and broken and wounded. She collapsed into his arms as he got nearer, and he clutched her to his chest.</p><p> </p><p>“Brienne, I...” he tried to say, but Brienne hissed in pain.</p><p> </p><p>“No,” she said. “Just take me from here. Take me away.”</p><p> </p><p>Geralt set his jaw, and lifted her into his arms. She buried her face in the crook of his neck as he began walking back to the tree line. She was clutching him tightly and shaking violently, and he held her a little tighter.</p><p> </p><p>When they got to the trees, he felt Brienne lift a shaky hand. He felt that strange tingling sensation again; felt the presence of her power, and then the roar of the fire suddenly died out, and the immense heat that had threatened to burn him alive suddenly vanished.</p><p> </p><p>When Geralt turned around, the fire had completely gone out, and there was nothing left but smoke and ruins. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>edited and re-uploaded 4/24</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Something Ends, Something Begins</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Dawn was rising, and Geralt could still smell smoke in the air, though they’d left the ruined remains of Honnyden far behind them. After returning to Roach, he’d helped Brienne into the saddle, she’d spoken one word to him: “Novigrad.” Geralt knew what it meant, and wasted no time in riding away from the smoke and ruin, as fast as possible. He sat behind Brienne, concerned she would fall off the horse, and thought she leaned heavily into his shoulder, she did not speak. Geralt didn’t have any words to spare either.</p><p> </p><p>They rode in silence until they reached the peak of the Pontar valley, and Geralt made his way to the top of a hill overlooking the great winding river separating Novigrad from the rest of Velen. Even in the wee hours of the morning, he could make out the faint outlines of fishing ships and smaller skiffs cutting their way through the water, and he could see the temple fires that burned at the heart of the city. He was grinding his teeth, he realized, and immediately stopped.</p><p> </p><p>He’d intended to begin the descent into the valley, but Brienne suddenly slipped off the back of the horse on cats feet, and moved to the edge of the hillside they stood atop. She was still shaking and unsteady, and Geralt was afraid for a moment that she might lose her balance and topple over the edge, but she quickly dropped to her knees a few feet away. Her back was turned to him so Geralt could not see her expression, but he knew if he looked, he would see nothing but icy numbness.</p><p> </p><p>“I can go on my own from here,” she finally said. Her voice was hoarse. Geralt did not move. He watched her for a long moment, a strange feeling settling over him. Part of him wanted to run, and never look back after what he’d seen at the village. But it didn’t seem right to do so. He’d never been the sentimental type, but after everything, he couldn’t imagine simply walking away from this strange, incredible, terrifying woman.</p><p> </p><p>This time, his better judgement told him to stay. He dismounted his horse and wordlessly moved to kneel at her side, settling in on his knees. Brienne did not look at him, and he couldn’t quite bring himself to look at her yet either, but he could feel the shift in the air as he settled in next to her.</p><p> </p><p>“I have nothing left for you,” Brienne said flatly. When Geralt did not reply, she grew more frustrated. “After everything you’ve seen, why do you linger?”</p><p> </p><p>“I linger <em>because</em> of what I’ve seen,” Geralt leveled back. “Can’t be sure you won’t try to fling yourself off the cliffside.”</p><p> </p><p>Brienne scoffed lightly.</p><p> </p><p>“And if I did?” she said bitterly. “What would it matter to you? What would it change? After this, I’ll just become another passing face to you. Another memory you’d like to forget.”  </p><p> </p><p>“Stop it,” Geralt snapped. Brienne opened her mouth as if she wanted to respond in kind, but she did not say anything, so Geralt closed his eyes. Exhaustion was creeping at the edges of his senses, but he could not rest yet.</p><p> </p><p>“What will you remember me as, Geralt?” Brienne asked suddenly, her voice sharp and cold. “A monster you failed to kill at worst, or a fool who got everyone she loved killed at best?”</p><p> </p><p>Geralt finally turned to meet her cold blue gaze, and he faced the emotion behind it. He expected a wave of strong emotion, but strangely enough, all he could sense was the feeling that something was missing. Something had shifted in the world since meeting this strange woman. Something beyond the connection they shared; the memory he would take of her, regardless of what that became. But something felt horribly wrong.</p><p> </p><p>What did she mean to him? What would she become to him? He couldn’t seem to escape her. Something inexplicable called him, but he did not know how to answer, and he wasn’t sure that she did either. Something had been missed, a mistake had been made: a blue thread woven into a red tapestry; it fit, but it wasn’t the proper place. This was never meant to have happened. They were never meant to have come here. But instead of filling him with useless, pointless longing, it filled him with anger.</p><p> </p><p>“You flatter yourself,” he said, his lips curled in a sneer. “You think lapsing into self-loathing is going to make all this go away? You think sulking for the next few decades will somehow absolve you of being a reckless idiot?”</p><p> </p><p>Brienne bristled and Geralt knew he’d finally hit a nerve she’d desperately been trying to cover up. But he was no longer afraid of her. She was powerful and unknowable, but she was just as foolish and fallible as any other mortal being. He knew practically nothing about this woman, and he knew she had secrets that ran deeper than he could ever imagine, but he knew her failures implicitly, for they were his own.</p><p> </p><p>He waited for Brienne to snap and snarl and bite back, but he was surprised when her expression slipped from anger to... something like peace. She turned her face back to the rising sun, and her face was bathed in golden light.</p><p> </p><p>“Perhaps you’re right, Geralt of Rivia,” she said, her voice gentle, sad, and impossibly old. “Perhaps this shame will only bring me ruin. You saw what I’m capable of; why I keep my secrets so close. Perhaps I need to let go. I only wonder when you’ll come to that conclusion for yourself.”</p><p> </p><p>_______________________</p><p> </p><p>They continued on towards the city in a heavy silence. A thick weight knotted itself in Geralt’s throat; tightened in his chest. He was not a sentimental person; avoided nostalgia as a rule. But the thought of Brienne departing was carving a hole in his chest: <em>it’s not right, it’s too soon, not yet. </em></p><p> </p><p>He was starting to realize that what drew him to her ran far deeper than a morbid curiosity. Something had drawn them together, and that something was trying to keep them together; screaming that it was wrong, wrong, wrong. But still, they walked, and still they did not speak.</p><p> </p><p>They reached the footpath leading up to the Hierarch’s gate, and once inside the city Geralt dismounted and found an inn willing to stable Roach. Brienne had lingered at a distance; her face distant and hard to read. He found himself cursing the sudden distance that had appeared between them. She had kept herself guarded before, but at least then she still teased and goaded him. She had a give and take. Now, she was walled off; stony. What changed?</p><p> </p><p>She was leaning against the stone pillar holding up the balcony of the tavern, staring hard at the filthy brick streets, and the peasants that were starting to gather. Geralt leaned on the pillar opposite her and crossed his arms, staring down the street. Just over the tops of the tall, weathered houses, he could see the glint of the sea.</p><p> </p><p>“Shall we part ways here?” Brienne was saying, and Geralt realized he’d been staring at the port in the distance with something like dread settling over him. He snapped back to look at her.</p><p> </p><p>“When does your ship leave?” he found himself asking. Brienne cocked her head at him ever so slightly.  </p><p> </p><p>“Midday,” she said. “But I have acquaintances in the city to pass the time with.”</p><p> </p><p>“You’re awfully eager to get rid of me,” Geralt tried to tease, but it fell flat as his emotions got the best of him. Brienne’s frown deepened.</p><p> </p><p>“Not in the slightest,” she said after a moment’s pause. Neither of them seemed to know what to say after that, and they stood staring at each other for a long moment before Geralt finally spoke up.</p><p> </p><p>“It feels unfinished, doesn’t it?” he offered. Brienne looked at him curiously, but nodded.</p><p> </p><p>“Aye,” she agreed. “I hadn’t imagined hiring a witcher would lead to all this, but here we are. A thousand things I wish I could say, but not enough words to say them.”</p><p> </p><p>“Hmm,” Geralt agreed, and to his chagrin, Brienne’s lips quirked into that annoying smirk.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, to be cursed with as few words as you,” she exclaimed. “I’m certain you’ve never struggled for a lack of words, since you never seem to bother yourself with them.”</p><p> </p><p>“At least I don’t waste my breath on bullshit,” Geralt said, but there was no heat in his voice. Brienne laughed, and despite everything, he found himself laughing too. When they finally got themselves under control, Geralt could still feel the gnawing sense of numbness, but it had been lessened.</p><p> </p><p>“Come,” Brienne said, nodding her head back at the tavern door. “Let’s eat. I still owe you for that bounty, anyways.” she turned to move past him, but before she could slip away, Geralt grabbed her forearm gently to stop her. He couldn’t say what came over him: a sudden sense of desperation, maybe, but he couldn’t explain why, either. He suddenly, desperately, needed to see something genuine from her. Something tangible; something real, that would linger even when she was gone, but as she stood staring at him with those strange blue eyes, he found he didn’t quite know what to say.</p><p> </p><p><em>Do I want her life story, finally? </em>He thought. <em>Or a better explanation of her powers? Why she’s going to Kovir? Do I want to know if she feels this same horrible, sickening sense of dread? Do I really want those answers? </em></p><p> </p><p>“Tell me a story,” he said instead. “About you. Just one story about anything at all. It just has to be the truth.”</p><p> </p><p>Brienne stared at him for a long, long moment. And then she smiled.</p><p> </p><p>“I have just the tale.”</p><p> </p><p>_____________________</p><p> </p><p>Geralt liked her better when she wasn’t trying to be mysterious and secretive. She was still a raging ass; cynical and cocky and irreverent, but she was also wickedly clever and sweet-natured. He had known both of those things from the way she’d treated Meggy and the rest of the villagers she’d grown to care for so much, but seeing her treat a perfect stranger with the same kind manner was oddly refreshing. She wasn’t putting on airs, or trying to pull the rug over his eyes. She wasn’t <em>just </em>an insanely powerful being of unknown origin. She was a person; capable of the same great and terrible things as the rest of them. The confirmation brought a strange comfort to Geralt that he’d never experienced before. Usually this revelation was followed by a vague disgust in the evils humanity was capable of, but this time... Well, this time it was better.</p><p> </p><p>They talked for what seemed like hours. Well, Brienne talked for what seemed like hours; sharing the story of how she’d been caught up in a pirate gang while departing Skellige, and how she’d managed to convince a crew of twenty rugged sailors to mutiny. Geralt didn’t believe her, so she’d launched into another story; apparently unperturbed by his lack of faith, and allowed the detail and vivid imagery of her story telling convince him that yes, she had indeed run with a group of Dol Blathanna elves for a winter; stealing from wealthy human settlements, and sowing discord in the holds.</p><p> </p><p>Her story telling skills rivaled Jaskier’s; mostly because her stories were surprisingly more genuine. She certainly embellished them, but Geralt assumed it was an inborn trait of all Skelligers to regale tales of their victories in as much vivid, gory detail as possible.</p><p> </p><p>He didn’t mind.</p><p> </p><p>When noon approached, they paid and left the tavern then lapsed into a companionable silence as they wove their way through the streets. Geralt was certain she was taking the long way around to the docks, but he did not correct her if she happened to take a left when she should have gone right, or taken the long way around a canal. He just enjoyed the simple comfort of her presence.</p><p> </p><p>But that made the dread grow stronger. The sun was rising, and Brienne would still need to secure her passage before boarding the ship; argue with dockmasters and Hierarchy officials, and likely threaten the few sorry bastards who tried to tell her ‘no.’ They couldn’t put it off forever, and eventually, Brienne set them on a straight path to the docks. Geralt’s heart sank with each step, and eventually, the dread and numbness had returned.</p><p> </p><p>“Why Kovir?” he asked rather hoarsely, breaking the silence. He’d told himself he wouldn’t ask again, but he’d hoped something had changed. He glanced at Brienne out of the corner of his eye and was disappointed to see the walls back up on her face, but they slowly crumbled.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m... looking for something,” she said flatly. She shook her head. “I cannae explain more than that without delving into a long, complicated story. One I simply don’t have the energy to tell.”</p><p> </p><p>Geralt tried to hide the way his jaw clenched, but Brienne must have noticed, because she suddenly reached out to wind her fingers through his hand. He looked down at her; a little startled, a little pleased. Somehow, this felt more intimate than anything they had done the previous night. Somehow, this felt like an admission of trust; as well as an apology.</p><p> </p><p>“Do I have to resign myself to never knowing the truth, then?” Geralt said, although his voice was not as bitter as it might have been.</p><p> </p><p>“That is not my hope,” Brienne said softly. The smell of sea water and pollution was getting stronger, and they rounded a corner onto a busy thoroughfare; filled with carts, merchants, and seaman. Geralt could see a massive passenger ship on the other side of the port, with sailors busily loading freight up the gangway. He looked back at Brienne, who gave him a sad smile.</p><p> </p><p>“I hope we meet again, Geralt of Rivia. And when we do, I hope I’ll have a better answer for you,” she said. “It’s the least you deserve for everything you’ve done for me.”</p><p> </p><p>Geralt suddenly stopped walking, heedless of the travelers that suddenly collided with his back, and spun on Brienne; grabbing her by the biceps, and forcing her to look at him.</p><p> </p><p>“You keep making this bigger than it needs to be,” he snapped. “Start with your powers. When did they begin? What all can you do with them?” he shook his head in a mix of bewilderment and anger. “Why make it so complicated? Why the cloak and dagger, and all the emotional whiplash?”</p><p> </p><p>“I didn’t lie to you earlier, Geralt,” Brienne replied numbly. “I really don’t know what I am. You’d think someone with powers like me would have some sort of... I don’t know, omniscience? A fucking clue? But it’s like you said: I’m just stumbling around cluelessly like every other sop on the continent, and I don’t have straight answers for anything. All I know is that I have access to something dangerous, and misusing it has gotten more people killed.”</p><p> </p><p>She removed Geralt’s grip on her arms, gently but firmly, and crossed her arms over her chest with a hard stare. He felt helpless under her gaze, and he hated it. And, he realized, he hated her a little bit too.</p><p> </p><p>“Can’t you feel that something is wrong?” he hissed. Brienne clenched her jaw.</p><p> </p><p>“I feel it too,” she said softly. “And it’s why I must leave. I put you in danger by being here, and I need to move on before this curse that follows me catches up to you too.”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m a witcher. I break curses.”</p><p> </p><p>“Not this kind,” Brienne shook her head. “Not the kind that come from your own shit mistakes.”</p><p> </p><p><em>More people, </em>Geralt thought distantly. <em>She said her powers have killed more people. </em></p><p> </p><p>“I’m sorry, Geralt,” Brienne said, her voice impossibly soft. Her eyes impossibly blue. Her face impossibly beautiful and sad and already a fading memory. “I hope we meet again. Truly.”</p><p> </p><p>She stepped past him before he could say another word, and immediately was swept into the crowds. Geralt watched the back of her silver head as it glinted in the sunlight. He followed her as far as his eye could see until she pulled her hood up, and finally, she disappeared entirely.</p><p> </p><p>He did not know what to feel, or how to react, so he decided to do neither. He turned his back to the ship, and walked away. There was nothing left for him. There was no reason to linger.</p><p> </p><p>It was only when he lay down that night, in front of a fire on the cold, hard ground, that he realized the scars on his back no longer hurt, and had not hurt for a long, long time.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Whooo buddy I did it!! I'll be completely honest, I was just going for completion with this fic - it's riddled with plot holes, grammar and formatting mistakes, and really, really shitty dialogue choices, but honestly? I completed it, and being able to say I completed something is a great feeling. I'll eventually go back and edit this more thoroughly (I.e., actually edit it), but for now... stay tuned for part two...</p><p> </p><p>edited and re-uploaded 4/24</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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